


SWTOR: Nocturne

by SWTORAscension



Series: Ascension [5]
Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Anaxes, Carrick Station, Dawnfire (Ship), Foerost, Galactic Republic, Genarius, Infinity (Ship), Jabiim, Jedi, Kar Shian (ship), Lightsabers, Malastare, Mirialans (Star Wars), Mk VI, Multi, Mygeeto, Neimoidian, Nocturne (Ship), Old Republic Era, Original Character(s), Original Character-centric, Quarren, Saleucami, Sith Empire, Triumph (Ship), Ziost (Star Wars)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2020-08-18 21:56:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 56,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20198818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SWTORAscension/pseuds/SWTORAscension
Summary: Sidequel - Loke Sanna: (3640 BBY)Jedi Master Loke Sanna is used to operating alone and from the shadows, working to destroy the dark side. When she’s given command of a newly captured Imperial warship, she faces the toughest challenge yet. Those under her leadership come from wildly different backgrounds, were chosen from the misfits of the fleet, and are seen with skepticism by Republic command. Keeping her crew together, her ship supplied, and the Empire on the defensive will take some clever thinking and the Force on her side. When faced with a true adversary that can not only match her skill in the cockpit but seems to be one step ahead, Loke will have to confront her past, protect her present, and fight to save her future.





	1. Prologue/Uninvited

**Author's Note:**

> Make sure to check out the rest of the series- **SWTOR: Ascension**, **SWTOR: Spoils of War**, and **SWTOR: Liberation** before starting this! This started as an interlude (~chapter length) piece, but with some inspiration, I built it out to four chapters and a prologue. This will be slowly built out as work continues on **SWTOR: Death Mark**!

**Star Wars: The Old Republic**

**NOCTURNE**

_A decade after an Imperial victory in_  
_the TREATY OF CORUSCANT, the Galaxy_  
_has returned to open warfare in an effort_  
_to finally crush the REPUBLIC once and_  
_for all._

_Even with their loss at CORELLIA, the_  
_SITH EMPIRE fights on, striking systems_  
_far and wide to find a key foothold that_  
_could change the tide._

_Meanwhile, trouble is brewing above_  
_an icy world in the Outer Rim - where_  
_the fate of an Imperial assault transport_  
_may depend on the actions of a daring_  
_pilot and her wingmen…_

### \--︱Prologue

#### Thirteen Years Ago - 3653 BBY

#### Foggy Bottom Station

#### Genarius

Slipping past yet another Imperial patrol, Syri Taloth admitted to herself that perhaps wearing her armor for infiltration was a poor choice. She had teased her partner when she had insisted on a dirty technician’s coveralls, but she had been right about making it easier to blend in. They were Jedi knights, and all of the sneaking seemed unnecessary. There was a reason they had trained for combat at the temple on Coruscant – to defend the innocent by confronting the dark side and the Sith head-on. Subterfuge was good for when they were trying to land their shuttle without getting shot down by the defensive cannons, but their goal should be to trash the machinery immediately. It would free the workers up to turn on the occupying Imperial forces.

Genarius was a gas giant whose main industry was tibanna gas mining. Used primarily in blasters and other weaponry, it was an essential resource in the fight against the Sith Empire. Mining was a delicate and technical process. Collecting the valuable gas out of the atmosphere, the workers vented it into carbon freezing chambers. The encasing carbonite would keep the gases stable enough for further transport to refineries across the Galaxy. Controlling a station like this was key to keeping weapons firing.

Which was why the decisive attack by the infamous Bane Brigade eight years prior had been so devastating. The Imperial black ops unit had wiped out the defenders and delivered the floating facility into enemy hands. Now she and her partner were here to make them regret that. After almost three decades of fighting, the war was leaning in the Republic’s favor. Breaking their supply lines would be key to winning the sector, and hopefully the war.

Ahead, Loke Sanna overrode the door controls to let them into the maintenance tunnels. Syri had known her since they were both Padawans, frequently training together, and they’d been close as sisters ever since. Unlike Syri’s role in the Order as a ‘Guardian,’ her friend was classified as a ‘Sentinel.’ A path that saw her train with the Force and become a serious lightsaber duelist, while also seeking out typically non-Jedi skills. Sometimes it seemed redundant when they could use their powers in almost any situation. Based on how Loke was dismantling the station’s security though, Syri couldn’t protest too much.

Panels blinked with a variety of status indicator lights, connected to bundles of thick wiring snaking across the walls and ceiling. Grime and slowly spreading rust gave the catwalks and battered walls an oddly neglected feel as they crept forward. Not that she was expecting pristine hallways, but it was clear the repair priority was on the mining equipment. It almost made her wonder where she would have ended up if the Jedi didn’t take her in as a child. _Would I be stuck on one of these platforms? _

Dawn would be here soon, the endless field of clouds out the viewports already beginning to turn shades of pink-orange. They were right on schedule, aiming to complete their objectives before the morning shift came on duty, but not stand out as sneaking around at an odd hour. It helped that the early morning was typically when most everyone was asleep or groggy from just waking up.

The sound of boots clinking lightly on the grating ahead made the Jedi stop in their tracks and press against the wall. Syri peeked around the corner to watch as a pair of soldiers stopped in front of the door to the gas spinning room. Part of her wondered if they were going to have to go through them.

“I’m exhausted. Counting the minutes until patrol ends.” One of them stretched and their helmet wobbled as they rolled the tension out of their neck.

“You’re telling me.” The other responded. “Maybe I’ll grab some chow before I head back to my bunk.”

“Not like there’s anything else to do on this backwater. Makes me wonder who I crossed to get punished with this place.”

A vocoder-tinged chuckle drifted down the hall as they continued on their route. “At least no one is shooting at you here, right?”

Shaking their heads, they moved out of sight, and Syri let out a long breath. Once their footsteps had properly faded off, the women held for one last moment before striding toward the door. The room was smaller than she expected, all drab metal with a couple of consoles and a wall of gauges. A holoportrait of a smiling family glowed on one of the desk areas, hovering silently with the occasional flicker.

“We should have about forty-five minutes, but I planned this whole operations for thirty. If all goes well, we should be long gone before even an early riser checks in.”

“Well, get to it, and I’ll keep watch.”

Loke slid into the technician’s chair while removing a thin spike from her pocket. Pre-programmed with the access code and secret subroutines, the spike would get to work on the platform’s systems, adding sabotage to the mix. The consoles in this room controlled the flow of the tibanna, spinning it with just enough air to keep it stable before the freezing process. It was a delicate operation, but primarily automated. That made this the perfect place to strike. With just the right shift in the mixture, they could begin rendering all the Tibanna nearly inert. When used in an engine or blaster, it would almost certainly fail to ignite, making the ship or blaster useless. Syri understood all the science behind it, as Loke had been talking about it while she planned. She still didn’t understand going through the complicated plan to get here though.

“Are you sure we couldn’t just bring in a bomber wing on this place? I’ve seen you handle a fighter, and we could skip all the sneaking."

Loke shook her head. “Trust me, it’ll be worth it. This way will protect all the workers pressed into service. Plus, it hurts the Imperial military for months if they need to keep checking every single shipment to make sure their weapons are going to fire when they pull the trigger.”

“Yeah, yeah, long game.”

They stood quietly as Loke worked, the sound of her tapping and going through menus mostly drowned out by the whir of machinery, the hiss of steam, and thudding bangs of general life on the platform. Syri paced while she waited, impatient to be done with this and get back to the front lines.

“Oy! What are you doing?” A stern voice came from the door. Covered in black armor, the Imperial soldier was already reaching for his weapon.

Using the Force to throw the trooper backward, it only served to push him back out the door and allow him a chance to alert his comrades. Rather than face two Jedi, he disappeared from sight. Alarms began blaring their whooping sirens, complete with strobing red lights.

“Well, that’s not good.”

Syri ignited her deep blue blade. “Plan B?”

“Hold them off for me. Almost done.” Loke commanded.

Syri headed for the doorway, her weapon pointed upward and ready to respond. The sound of shouts and echoing footfalls were coming their way. She felt her fingers tighten around the hilt in preparation. With a final series of button presses, Loke followed her. A sudden deep thrumming noise came from her side as the tangerine blade hung from one hand.

“Ready?”

“Do I have a choice?”

Bursting into the hallway, blaster bolts tore past them and slammed into the walls. In a blur of blue and orange they pushed forward meter by meter, deflecting fire into the walls. As soon as they reached a branching hallway, they took it, angling toward their escape plan. Syri moved into the lead solely on instinct, but she had to admit that the battle was giving her a rush. Stepping over the fallen, she knew they wouldn’t be able to keep this pace up all the way to the landing pad.

A small orb flew toward them, bouncing with an almost musical noise against the metal paneling. Loke rushed for it, but it was too late. The blast threw her backwards and into the wall while leaving a warped gap in the hallway. Against all odds, it left her crouched on one knee as she tried to shake the concussive damage from her mind.

Syri helped her friend up, almost recoiling at the blood running down Loke’s face. Dark spots were already forming around the tattered holes where the shrapnel had bit into her skin. Nothing that seemed critical, but she knew after years of war that looks could be deceiving.

“Next time, let the person in armor take the hit.” Syri shook her head as she chided. “How bad is it?”

“I’m- I’m okay. Just a little off, but we can keep moving.” Loke assured her, collecting her saber hilt from the floor.

Syri felt the ripple in the air as well as the shift in the Force. Grabbing Loke by the back of her coveralls, she shoved the woman hard. As she stumbled forward and landed on the ground, a shimmering red ray shield activated. At least her instincts were still on point. Loke looked up at her from the ground with confusion on her face.

“What are you doing?”

“You’re wounded and I couldn’t let you get trapped on this side. You need to get to the shuttle!"

“What about you?”

“I’m going to do what we should have done in the first place – make a mess.” Syri reignited her saber. “Now go!”

Rushing back down the hallway, Syri gave herself completely over to the Force, blocking incoming fire and sending it back to where it came from. Cleaving through any enemy within range, she tuned out the cries of pain and shouts of anger. High, low, her blade danced as she leapt on her next opponent, spinning to cut down his companion. More troops flooded in through the doorway, hoping to corner her and end things here.

Wrenching pipes from the walls forced steam and tibanna to spray out onto the attackers. If nothing else, it made most of them retreat to cover until they could find a way past. A stray shot would be deadly to anyone within the blast radius. Holding the jagged pipe pieces in mid-air, Syri launched them into the nearby storage tanks. They turned holes into directed clouds of flammable gas.

Between the buildings, Loke’s drab shuttle hovered into view with engines glowing. Syri was torn at the sight – relief that her best friend was safe and despair that she had been left behind. How could she just leave without me? If she really was trapped here with scores of angry troops and key Imperial supplies, better to save countless lives by taking them away from the enemy.

There is no death, there is only the Force.

Leaping over the railing, she hurled her lightsaber toward one of the main gas pipes. Assisted by the Force, it flew with incredible speed, spinning toward its target. She closed her eyes as she landed, focusing on keeping the blade’s momentum. Along with the already leaking gas from the tanks, there would only be one outcome.

Burning jets of blue-orange flame tore through the mining platform, shattering storage tanks and nearly splitting the whole place in half. Smaller, secondary explosions followed the initial one in popping succession. Lights flickered and failed along with key grids tied into the repulsor systems. It made the floating city sag and shift, a great beast fighting its inevitable death. Slowly it sank, descending into the lower cloud layers and the crushing pressure of the depths below.

Soon enough, the platform and all the inhabitants disappeared in the swirling colors, never to be seen again.

### 1︱Uninvited

#### 3640 BBY

#### Jygat, Mygeeto

Much like everywhere else on the planet, the capital city was locked in a perpetual ice age. Thick layers of ice coated most of the surface, its varied terrain broken up by canyons and glaciers filled with massive, jutting crystals. It was these crystals that helped power what few cities existed. Buildings sat perched above the canyons, domed or resembling stacks of rings to discourage snow build-up on their roofs. Skybridges ran between structures, offering frigid travel pathways for both speeder and pedestrian traffic.

__

Polar winds whipped swirling snowflakes that filled the air. Constant snowstorms were a fact of life for those that lived here. A bleak but resource rich world under endlessly overcast clouds. Dark shapes moved within them, predators stalking their prey.

__

Above the buildings, a trio of Mk. VI _Supremacy-class_ interceptors shot past, skimming over the towers as they cut through the storm. Consisting of two downward sloping wings from a central pod, their profile was legendary. Blaster cannons jutted out from each wingtip, panels near the rear flipping up to provide better stability during combat. The Imperial fighters were the backbone of their attack squadrons. A deadly yet angularly striking piece of equipment that was the last thing many pilots ever saw. Lacking shields or missile tubes, they were designed for speed, swarming a target with overwhelming numbers. It was a tactic that had won the Sith Empire countless battles - and even the last war.

__

But now a new war had begun, one that was being fought across the Galaxy, even here on the Outer Rim. Fighter patrols and fleet incursions reminded the local populace that the Empire was everywhere, powerful and vigilant. Especially after their defeat at the Battle of Corellia. That soon every world would fall under their ordered rule. 

__

The fighters banked away from the city in unison, climbing through the thick clouds as they headed off-world. It was a dark gray mire in the center, the turbulent air buffeting them before they broke through the clouds to see the sky a brilliant pink-orange. A curve of glowing atmosphere like looking too close at a glass orrery. 

__

As the view turned dark and filled with stars, they could finally see the asteroid field that surrounded part of the approach to the planet. None were close enough to pose a danger to the inhabitants, just those traveling into or out of the system. In orbit hung a different object, a _Subjugator-class_ assault transport. Adjusting their heading for approach, the fighters flew casually so as not to appear threatening.

__

The top of the assault transport was flattened and winged out on both sides with what looked like a typical superstructure on the stern. A hold over from other designs, as the true bridge was a boxy head that stuck out from the bow like some shelled beast. Triangular-shaped engines and armor dominated the rear. Two large hangars hung on the underside of the ship. Depending on the mission, they held fighters, dropships, or even rows of speeders for rapid deployment during an invasion. 

__

Over the encrypted Imperial frequency, the tone was harsh. “This is the _Nocturne_. We were not expecting allied forces in this area. Identify yourselves and your purpose.” 

__

The woman’s voice was appeasing. “This is Captain Dala of Shyrack Squadron. We’re looking for resupply before our next patrol.” 

__

“Roger. Please transmit access codes.” 

__

“Of course. Transmitting now.” Everything was going to plan. 'Dala' smiled to herself inside the cockpit. The real Imperial Captain was probably still unconscious in a storage closet. She would be perfectly fine when she woke up, minus a pounding headache. And her ship, but she would figure that out eventually.

__

Any other day, the woman wearing an Imperial uniform was known as Master Loke Sanna of the Jedi Order. A Sentinel specializing in non-Force skills and tasked with destroying the Sith. Some even claimed she was one of the best blades in the Order, but she never let that go to her head.

__

On Tython, the Masters had always preached that deception was the way of the dark side. That the Jedi could only walk in the light by confronting problems head-on and with diplomatic transparency. Loke had never agreed with that. Wars were won by keeping your enemy off balance, and that included deceiving them if it meant saving innocent lives. She had tried to teach the same paradigm to her Padawan, with mixed success.

__

Well, former Padawan. Sera Misari had passed her trials with flying colors after Corellia. Now she was assigned to Felucia, a thousand parsecs from here. Loke was incredibly proud of her, but it was strange not having one of her closest companions by her side. Although her current wingmen were really growing on her.

__

"Attention, Shyrack Squadron: You are cleared for landing. Proceed to the starboard hangar."

__

'Dala' kept her accent crisply Imperial. "Acknowledged."

__

Shifting position, they moved to single file for landing. It was strange to see the autocannons sitting dormant as the fighters grew closer, not realizing what approached them even now. Sliding through the magnetic hangar field, they took their places along the edge of the room. Banking one last time to face inward, the repulsors lowered them onto docking hooks. Maintenance crew moved ladders into place for the pilots to exit as the cockpit opened with a hiss. 

__

The crew chief was heading toward Loke when she reached the bottom. Unhooking the helmet’s pressure seals, she removed it and took a breath of the stale, metallic air that every ship seemed to have by default. She set the helmet on a nearby crate and quickly checked her smooth, black hair with her left hand to make sure the tight bun had not fallen loose. Regulation among most Imperial units, it was just one more detail to help her blend in.

__

With her other hand, she tapped her gear. Checking life-support tubes, ammo pouches, the main control unit on her chest. It looked typical enough but allowed her to triple-check the cylindrical storage pouch strapped to her lower back. This one held something more precious than flares though - her lightsaber. One of them, at least. There was limited space for just her primary weapon. It was a last resort option. If lightsabers came out, something had gone terribly wrong.

__

“Chief.” Loke said in her practiced accent.

__

“This is a surprise.” The man said in his dirty coveralls. She noticed him eyeing the thin scar along the outside of her right eyebrow that stood out on her tanned skin. “What can we help you with?”

__

Loke pointed back at the interceptor’s wing. “My port side stabilizer keeps sticking. Not sure if it’s the ice or some sort of mechanical issue, but the flashing sensor warning has me concerned.” 

__

“Will do. I’ll have my crew check it out.”

__

“Much appreciated.” 

__

Her other wingmen had exited their fighters as well and joined the group just as the Chief was departing. Only one had removed their helmet, a fair skinned human with dark hair and a thick beard. He nodded professionally to her as the pair arrived. Just like Loke, he had a similar pouch on his lower back.

__

“Everything in order?” Ashnox Blackstar asked quietly. 

__

“It would seem so.” She replied, leading them toward the hangar exit. 

__

Jae Doraan had kept her sloped helmet on as they moved into the hallway. She was more anonymous than any of them, save for the non-standard silver metal of her blaster pistol. It was her prized possession, and mostly hidden by the black leather of her standard-issue holster. “I hate this stupid helmet. It’s fine for looking straight ahead out of a cockpit, but it’s got no peripheral vision.”

__

“If it makes you feel better, you look extra sinister with it on.” Ashnox commented.

__

“And with it off, my face would blow our cover in an instant.” She had a point there. Jae was a Mirialan, born with jade skin and later adding the geometric tattoos on her cheeks and forehead. Aliens were non-existent in the Imperial military, seen as a second class citizens that could not be trusted with any sort of power. The joys of authoritarian, xenophobic societies.

__

Loke nodded in agreement as they passed a few enlisted troopers and maintenance personnel in the halls. Most barely gave her a passing glance. Amazing how a simple costume could allow them access to an enemy warship. Not that she was shocked, that was the point. It was human nature to ignore most things if it looked like they belonged. Most of these Imperials were focused on more pressing priorities, like sleep, what was in the mess hall, or when they would next have port leave.

__

She had been pleasantly surprised to get Jae’s call a week earlier. She had identified Imperial activity on Mygeeto and had cooked up a plan to remove it for good. It relied heavily on stealing the Mk VIs and Jae had immediately thought of Loke’s fighter training. Sure, her background was purely in Republic fighters, but a ship was a ship. A chance to utilize her skills in the cockpit, test out enemy ships, and take down a key target? No one needed to twist her arm for that opportunity. The only hitch was finding proper uniforms, but Jae seemed to have that covered as well. An occupied airbase on Corellia had its ships destroyed in bombing runs, but all of the equipment was left abandoned when the troops retreated. 

__

Ambushing and stunning the actual pilots on Mygeeto was simple after all that.

__

“These suits don’t come in a ton of sizes either.” Jae shifted in her black uniform with dark red accents, like she longed to get it off and go back to something more comfortable. “This was the only one in the whole pile that could fit my curves.”

__

Ashnox put his hand on her shoulder. “We finish this quickly, and you’ll be free.”

__

She shook her head. “Don’t rush unless we absolutely have to. We have some time. Emtoo knows to meet us on Ryloth in two days with Ascension.”

__

Two days seemed like a stretch, but it was better to give themselves some room in case this operation went sideways. The Empire would have noticed an unmistakably Republic vessel landing on Mygeeto, so Jae left that burly-looking droid to fly the ship. Instead, the trio had taken some light luggage and hopped a commercial transport to the planet's surface. A slower but subtler method. Loke only hoped they could avoid needing to return to the city below by way of the escape pods.

__

Reaching the central turbolifts, they looked around at one another. Jae was the first to break off and head toward the stern of the ship. 

__

Loke looked her in the shiny helmet visor. “You got this?” 

__

Jae scoffed. “This isn’t the first Imperial ship I’ve sabotaged. I'm 'The Destroyer,' remember? Just don’t let them jump to hyperspace until I give the signal.” 

__

“That’s my cue too.” Ashnox gave her a mock-salute and headed down the other hall toward two Imperial troopers standing guard outside a blast door. She watched him walk until he was even with the pair and attempt his mostly passable Imperial lilt. “Excuse me, is this the armory?”

__

“Yes, sir.”

__

“I’ve had some trouble with my sidearm. Fully charged power packs dead before I can fire a shot.” He waved his hand slightly. “You want to show me inside so I can find a replacement.”

__

“Sir, if you’ll follow us, we can get you a replacement.”

__

Loke chuckled as she hit the call button for the turbolifts. It only took a moment for the car to arrive, considering the smaller size of this vessel as compared to a capital ship. It only took a few seconds to reach the other level and the doors to slide open again.

__

“Everyone in position?” Loke whispered into her commlink.

__

“All good.” Ashnox replied.

__

Jae sounded less sure as the warbling of a blaster on stun came through in the background. “Uh… I think we’re clear. Give me thirty seconds or so.”

__

Pocketing the device again, Loke counted down in her head while she walked toward the main bridge. This hallway was much sparser, mainly holding Officer berthing and a few diagnostic consoles. She breezed past them as she headed toward the blast door with a single guard posted outside.

__

“I think you’re lost.” The trooper said firmly.

__

“I need to speak to the Commander about a security issue. She needs to hear it from me directly.”

__

Shifting his weight, the man sighed. “Fine. Follow me.”

__

Unlike most military ships, this one had only a modest bridge with a half-dozen crew members manning it. Commander, XO, Weapons, Communications, Hangar Control, and Helmsman. Simple yet efficient. At the far end was a middle-aged woman in the typical gray Imperial officer’s uniform. She scanned over a datapad as she sipped a steaming caf.

__

“Commander Uris.” The guard saluted. “I was told there was some vital information you need to be made aware of.”

__

Uris rolled her eyes and set down the datapad. “Well, what is it, Captain? Is there a reason you're clogging up my hangars?”

__

“You need to surrender this ship to me immediately.” Loke dropped the Imperial accent. It only seemed to perk the Commander’s ears more. “I have a team on board that has planted explosives throughout your vessel. If you try to kill me, the charges will destroy the transport and kill everyone on board.”

__

Uris looked at Loke like this was some sort of twisted joke. “What in the Emperor’s name do you think you’re doing? This is mutiny, and that treason is punishable by death.” 

__

Ashnox sounded unsure in her ear, “Uh… A few ion grenades will disable the arms lockers and kill the hyperdrive, but we don’t have that kind of firepower.” 

__

Jae chastised him in response. “The Imps don’t know that! They probably think she’s crazy enough to do it! Clever move, Loke.” 

__

Luckily Loke knew just how good her Sabacc face was, even with voices in her head. “Surrender quietly, and no one gets hurt.”

__

She saw the comm officer move forward out of the corner of her eye, reaching to call for reinforcements. It sent a warning through the Force to the Jedi Master, meaning she had already prepared. Switching to her non-dominant hand, she fired her pistol. The blue stun rings widened just before striking the man in the chest and sending him tumbling backward over his chair. 

__

The rest of the crew moved back from their consoles and began positioning themselves to fight, and Loke knew she was out of options. Reaching into the pouch on the small of her back, she produced the unmistakable hilt of a lightsaber. She held the weapon firmly while staring down Commander Uris. Watching her eyes closely to read her motives. 

__

“Right about now you’re sizing up this situation. Realizing who and what you’re dealing with. Do you really want me to turn this on? We both know how that will end.” 

__

“Perhaps.” She sneered.

__

All Loke saw in Uris’s eyes was disgust and rage. Anger at being outsmarted and confronted so easily. No one moved as they waited for orders from their leader. Her eyes darted between the lightsaber and the intruder’s face as her resolve began to fade. After a long moment, the Commander dropped her blaster. A chorus of thunks followed as the rest of them followed suit.

__

Loke let out her breath as she keyed her commlink. “We’re clear. Objective complete.”

__

It was the best outcome for everyone, whether they realized it or not. Loke had heard enough stories of entire crews scuttling their ships or fighting to the last man just to save themselves from whatever wrath their superiors had in store. Her orange blade would have snuffed out a lot of lives in self-defense if the Commander had ordered them to fire. Pointless deaths and unnecessary destruction with all the blaster bolts flying around. 

__

Ashnox and Jae came through the bridge doors a moment later, the Jedi carrying a satchel filled with neural binders from the armory and his hilt on his belt. Jae had removed her helmet now that the element of surprise had passed. Her green face seemed to shock the crew, as did the scar that ran down the center of her right eyebow and cheek. Unlike her Force-wielding companions, she had her blaster trained on the group to encourage their cooperation. They were unlikely to have any trouble at this point, but the charges planted in the armory and engine room ensured their contingency plan.

__

Moving down the line, Ashnox clicked their wrists into binders. Some accepted it more passively than others. “You’ve done the right thing. Because you surrendered, you’ll all be treated as prisoners of war – and all the protections that come with that. Just sit tight and we’ll be done soon.”

__

“And unless you try anything, no one gets hurt.” Jae added.

__

Now that they had the ship, the hardest part was out of the way. Loke moved from console to console, deactivating weapons systems, checking the shields, and locking down parts of the ship to try and contain whatever personnel had not already been incapacitated. Knowing her other team members though, there would not be many.

__

While Ashnox relocated the new prisoners to sit in the corner of the bridge, Loke set the final jump coordinates and let the ship calculate. Outside of factoring for the asteroid field on one side, it would be a decently direct trip. A ping and flashing light came moments later to confirm their course was locked. Pulling back on the hyperdrive lever, the Galaxy outside stretched and swirled into a tunnel of bright blue-white.

__

“Come in, Fifth Fleet, this is Master Loke Sanna. Mygeeto is clear of Imperial forces. My team has captured the Nocturne and will be jumping to your location. Please hold your fire and prepare boarding teams to take prisoners.”

__

“Thanks for the heads-up, Master Jedi. We’ll be waiting for you.”

__

“Delivering us to the Republic!?” The Commander demanded from the corner. “I’d almost rather you be pirates.”

__

Ashnox raised an eyebrow. “Jedi pirates? What is this, a holofilm?”

__

Loke laughed as she checked the consoles. “Look on the bright side. At least you don’t have to freeze on that ice planet anymore. You’ll get a nice, warm cell and better food than the Empire was probably feeding you.”

__

Uris let out a disgruntled noise in response.

__

<< >>  


__

Dropping back into realspace, the assault transport had landed perfectly in a semi-circle of Republic capital ships. Bulbous _Valor-class_ cruisers and thinner _Thranta-class_ corvettes with their distinctive hammerhead bows waited between worlds. Carmine-colored shuttles launched at their arrival, making a beeline for the ship. Almost none of the hangar crew would have weapons, and with the doors locked down, nowhere to escape. Loke hoped that it would force them all to surrender without further violence. They had made it this far with no casualties, it would be nice to finish that way.

__

"Attention: This ship is now under Republic control. You may have noticed that we’re currently surrounded by the Fifth Fleet. You have about fifteen seconds until troops land. Surrender immediately, and you will not be harmed. Thanks!"

__

"Nice touch." Ashnox chuckled from behind her.

__

Loke felt Jae join her at the command console. Although the Jedi was focused on the view outside, she asked the question that floated to the top of her mind. “So, what happens to this ship? SIS planning to exploit it? Melt it down for scrap?”

__

Jae placed an affectionate hand on her back. “My part of the plan ended here. Seems like a waste to destroy a ship we took perfectly intact. Any ideas?”

__

A smile formed on Loke’s lips. It was an unexpected and impulsive thought, but these two had that effect on her. “Maybe I’ll give it a new coat of paint and see if we can’t use it to do some good.”

__

“Can’t argue with that.”

__


	2. New and Improved

### 02︱New and Improved

#### Foerost Shipyards

#### Foerost

Six weeks.

It had taken only six standard weeks to refit the Imperial ship with Republic equipment, supplies, munitions, and give the dull gray hull a proper cleaning. Even the SIS teams completed their work of downloading and exploiting whatever intelligence they could pull from the consoles in a matter of days. Loke was honestly impressed. The Republic was many things, but quick was rarely one of them. Bureaucracy and endless red tape wrapped around and strangled every process. Forms and layers of approvals and contracting out small, specialized jobs that took far too long to complete. Inefficient and sometimes deadly when there was a war for the survival of the Republic as they knew it raging across the known Galaxy. The Jedi master knew it was a necessary evil of accountability, but it was still a source of endless frustration.

But this process was, for once, not frustrating at all. After the capture over Mygeeto, the Republic Fleet Admiral had been more than willing to cede control to Loke. They had even named her the new commander. As a joint Jedi-Republic venture, a re-purposed enemy ship crewed by Republic military and helmed by a Jedi Master was too great a symbol to pass up.

The Senate’s public relations department had been positively giddy when they tracked her down. A pair of vapid humans dressed in bright shimmersilk and wearing ostentatious makeup. Their smiles seemed so fixed that it wasn’t clear if their facial muscles were permanently frozen. ‘_Defeating the enemy with their own weapons and showing the unbreakable ties between the Republic and their Jedi protectors_!’ Loke had merely rolled her eyes, but she admitted it was a win on all fronts to those in charge.

Which all brought her to Foerost and its orbital shipyards. Much like Kuat Drive Yards a thousand parsecs away, a gleaming ring of metal wrapped around the unassuming planet, filled with building facilities, design labs, and logistics hubs. Two dozen capital ships of all sizes floated in their designated bays, held in place by massive magnetic clamps. Kuat was the better known place to conduct the conversion, but it was also booked solid with Republic capital ships drydocked for their own resupply and repair.

_Foerost may be one of the oldest shipyards_, Loke thought to herself, _but it’s clearly more than capable of getting things done_.

Nudging the stick to the left, she pointed the fighter’s nose toward the still tiny, glowing rectangles that were the hangar bays. At least this time there was no deception in her approach. Her Flashfire scout was an offensive starfighter, built for speed and power in battle. Another gift from a Republic military command happy to see her use it on the enemy at some point.

The arrowhead-shaped ship was standard issue, but the paint job was all Loke’s doing – scarlet on her port side, a deep blue on starboard, with a starburst pattern leaving the area around her cockpit white. Distinctive and personally designed, it was a request that a few artistic troops on Coruscant were happy to oblige. Something different that the typical carmine and white. One had even offered to add a sultry looking Twi’lek next to her canopy, but she figured the striking colors would be enough.

She was more into Mirialans right now anyway.

Dark beats pulsed and enveloped her as she kept a steady and leisurely pace. The ship wouldn't leave until she was on board and specifically ordered it to. Until then, she could enjoy the musical stylings she had downloaded into her ship's systems for times like this. In battle she needed her radio and constant communication to limit the number of distractions in a chaotic fight.

Without that, keeping a bit of entertainment on hand helped pass long hours of patrol or scouting duty. Such low-level tasks would normally be assigned to rookie pilots instead of Jedi Masters, but Loke assumed she'd need to take on a lot more responsibility for this command.

Her landing clearance had been pre-authorized with the dockyard when the transport her fighter sat on jumped into system. That was the downside of a small ship - the lack of a hyperdrive. At least she assumed she was cleared, as her radio and the space around her wasn't filled with warnings and turbolaser fire.

Angling her approach vector to line up with the forward hangar, Loke eased back on her throttle and coasted through the vacuum. She watched still tiny Republic personnel scurrying around inside as they made final preparations for her arrival and their subsequent embarkation. The magnetic field gave them all a golden sheen as she slid through the curtain into breathable atmosphere again. Her repulsors kicked in automatically, keeping her in a hover as she moved into her assigned spot.

Setting down with a light bounce as her craft settled on its landing gear, Loke powered down the main engines. The music died out as well, ghosts of the beat left in the sudden silence. As her fingers moved around the cockpit clicking off each system, it started to really hit her. _This is happening_. Somehow it seemed a lot more romantic of an idea when standing on a freshly conquered ship with her lightsaber in her hand and surrendered foes behind her. Like an old Holo about roguish pirates striking fear into the hyperlanes with their customized ships and fearsome crews. Somehow she doubted that the Jedi Council would much approve of her striking fear into anyone. Not that they seemed to approve of most things she did.

A loud, metallic clank brought her back to her senses. Ground crewmen latching the ladder into place so she could exit her fighter. Grabbing the canopy release, there was a low hiss before the hydraulics swung the transparisteel up so she could stand.

“Welcome to the new and improved _Nocturne_, Master Sanna.” A human in a mix of officer’s uniform and hangar crew gear stood on the deck looking up at her. With close cropped hair and serious expression, he could have passed for a typical Flight Deck Chief. Years of friendship, multiple commands, and far too many nights drinking together, however, put Rike Spree’s greeting in a completely different light.

"Isn't helping pilots out of their fighters is a bit below your pay grade?" She slipped her flight helmet off and tossed it down to him.

He caught it easily and gave her a sly smile. "Not when they're the boss. And a Jedi Master."

Loke rolled her eyes. "Ok, enough flattery. Already making this weird."

Taking a short jump off of the wing, Loke bypassed the ladder and gracefully landed on the hangar floor. Sure, it was blatantly showing off, but Spree gave her a slow, sarcastic clap just the same. She gave him a bemused nod in return.

"Settling in?" She motioned around at their surroundings.

He shrugged. "It's no Republic ship, and I'll never understand why the Imps insist on some of these design features, but we're adapting. Just takes some creativity."

"Don't break my new ship." Loke warned half-seriously.

"Your new ship, huh?" It was clear he was headed for an especially sarcastic response before thinking better of it. "Not that new. This thing's probably a couple decades at least."

"New enough. Where's Cuefive?" Loke asked, puzzled. In all her years of knowing Spree, he almost never went anywhere without T6-Q5 rolling just behind him.

"He's back there somewhere running diagnostics. I barely think he's stopped for a recharge since we set foot on this ship."

Taking in all the details of the hangar now that she was out of the restricting cockpit, she noted that the borrowed Imperial fighters and even most of the speeder bikes were gone. Not especially shocking, as their purpose was no longer assisting with invasions. They kept a few bikes, but those were just in case an away team needed them. Easier than trying to walk, especially on urban or forested worlds.

_Or maybe just for the occasional joyride. Recon… or something_.

In place of the Mk VIs were the Flashfire she landed in, as well as a much more drab looking one in the other front bay. Somehow it looked kind of sad without the bright colors. At the far diagonal was a single Republic assault shuttle, used for rapid deployment or boardings. From here, Loke could make out a couple troopers in armor wandering around the outside.

"We only get two fighters and a shuttle?"

Spree chuckled. "That's about all we have room for, if you can't tell. Even Liberator fighters would have a tough time launching quickly from such narrow bay doors. Last thing this crew needs is for a pilot to catch a wingtip during an emergency landing and become a flaming pinwheel."

"Point taken." Not that she didn't understand, but a variable to be factored into any fight.

"Before you try to commandeer the shuttle, it's exclusively for the Infantry detachment's use. If you need them to strike something or board a ship, they'll be more than happy to oblige."

"I'm almost insulted that you would just assume I would take a ship without asking." For all the busy crew members rushing around, there was one role that was clearly missing. “What about the pilot for the other fighter?”

"I was talking with Inpost about that, actually. Didn't think it was right to choose without your input."

A simple gesture, but it was surprisingly thoughtful. It was also good news that at least the crew’s officers were already getting to know each other. "Thanks. If you can get me the list of candidates, I'll look over them when I'm settled in."

"No rush," he assured her, "but better before we get too deep behind enemy lines."

_Don’t I know it_. Who knew what they would face out there from the Imps, and better to have both fighters ready to launch on a moment’s notice if there was an emergency.  


Spree turned to the far wall. "Hey Cuefive! Did you compile that pilot list?"

A squat orange-and-black astromech droid parked in front of a control panel swiveled its flattened head and let out a cheerful squeal.

"Thanks buddy!" He chuckled as he looked back at Loke. "He's in a good mood today. I'll have him put the dossiers in a data burst and transmit it to the console in your quarters."

Loke nodded. “Appreciate it. I’m going to go check in with the infantry CO and get changed. I’ll check in later.”

“Will do.” He replied as he waved over some of the mechanics to start their standard checks.

Crossing the divide between the hangar bays, Loke took her time and tried to stay out of the way of those actually working. Coiling fueling hoses, running and re-running checks, dealing with small issues that popped up unexpectedly. More often than not, it seemed that problems always sprung up at the very last minute before setting off, whether on a small ship or a big one. Sparks streamed away from a last minute plating patch job above her head.

Carmine and white, the _Fortitude-class_ shuttle was the standard issue one used for tactical insertions on the battlefield. Most Republic units used the larger _Rendaran-class_, but then again, most units didn’t have limited hangar space. Its gull-shaped wings were folded upward for easy storage for now. Loke had ridden in the back of one enough times, mainly for training missions with the military. Better to know she had the experience of working with the equipment when she could go slow, rather than risk injury when it was a life-or-death situation.

The officer was partially dressed in heavy armor, covering him from the waist down in leg plates, codpiece, and bulky boots. His top half, however, skipped the classic officer's uniform for an undersuit. He was older than she expected for a typical squad leader, although there were always exceptions. Stocky with tattoos snaking down his toned musculature, he appeared to be reviewing notes on his datapad. Loke assumed that he had probably seen action in the last war as well, which could come in handy.

As she approached, he turned his bald head and gave a slow salute. "Master Jedi, it's a pleasure. Colonel Tronn Bostic." He extended his hand and she took it in a firm grasp. She had met enough soldiers who gave off the same sort of gung-ho energy, but never someone of such high rank wading into battle with the enlisted. "Excited to get underway and help you be a proper thorn in the side of the Imps."

Loke smiled. "You can be sure of that, Colonel. Hope you're good with improvisation."

"My favorite kind. Especially when combined with high explosives." Bostic waved the datapad. She'd seen enough of those lists in her time that were nothing but tediously necessary logistics. The less glamorous part of war. "Still need to finish reviewing our gear loadout and making sure my squad is properly inspected, then I'd love to discuss some assault plans to have on hand."

She nodded. "Uh… yeah. That would be good to set up before we need it."

“My team is currently set up in the armory, mainly so we can keep the gear in one central location. Feel free to stop by anytime."

"Excellent.”

Stepping back, she had to admit it really was a solid idea for both the troopers and for whoever she chose as her wingman when defending the ship. Easier to call out a specific formation or attack route if they were sketched out and codenamed far in advance. Especially when the codenames were kept short and distinctive. One of her old teams had used different predators for their ferocious reputation and cool-sounding names. It really all depended on the personalities involved.

Heading to find her new quarters gave her an odd sense of deja vu, walking the same corridors in a flightsuit and with a whole different feeling of anxiety. Less a worry of catching a blaster bolt in the back, but that would be quicker than the commitment set before her. Battle was quick and fluid, something she could choose to escape from if it became too much. She’d almost prefer it at this point. A light ping came from the turbolift as the door slid smoothly open.

Simple but spacious, the captain’s quarters were likely twice or three times the size of any other bunk on the ship. One of the eccentricities of Imperial military life and its class system. Loke wouldn’t complain. It would give her a place to get some privacy and meditate when she had time. Hard to put a premium on that. A decent bed, a gear closet and a desk was all she really needed when she wasn’t on the bridge. A bright spot in the dull, functional room was a plasteel crate with Republic markings on the side. A small plate riveted to the surface had her name and code number in silver on the black background. Apparently package delivery was full service.

Dropping her flight gloves on the desk with a built in comm console and work terminal, Loke noticed one of the only decorations was a model placed on the corner. An exact replica of the _Nocturne_, painted and weathered with a glowing cockpit and hangar bays. Excellent craftsmanship and likely a gift given to Commander Uris when she assumed command.

_Neat_.

Unclasping and shimmying out of her flight suit, she tossed her clothes in a pile on the nearby chair. Few pieces actually landed even remotely near what she was aiming at. Lifting them back onto the seat with the Force would be a simple task, if she could be bothered to actually make the effort. Her gaze drifted to the freshly made bed in the corner. A growing temptation had her considering just falling naked into bed and sleeping - but obligations and all that.

_Speaking of obligations_ – she silently added finding some sort of food to her to-do list rattling around inside her head. Something more than the tasteless rations they usually had on a ship like this. Like a stack of Trandoshan flatcakes with some fresh berry sauce, or a shipment of real meat. Not the standard protein concoction, but something taken straight off the animal and grilled. A decent selection of flavorful food at every meal would go a long way toward improving not just her morale, but everyone trapped on board this thing with her. She shook her head slightly to try and shake the detailed daydream loose. It was only making her hungrier.

Popping the latches on the crate, she pulled out pieces appropriate enough to go meet the rest of the crew. Tan pants, her bantha hide boots, a bodice-like piece that had light armor woven between the layers of fabric... It was pretty much her go-to outfit for travel, battle, and general Jedi-ing, so why change a good thing? Dropping them in a stack next to her gear belt with the saber hilts still attached, she took a deep and calming breath.

_What did I get myself into_? It was a fair question. A few months ago she was running tactical missions, and now she was standing on a large ship - her ship - about to command a whole crew. _To what, exactly? Take on the Imperial war machine? Track down pirates_?

Loke had always relied on herself or a small, trusted group. It was easier to infiltrate, gather information, commit sabotage, or even disappear when there was only a few people to worry about. Blending in among the locals or creeping through the shadows. Not dropping out of hyperspace in something so bulky. Pulling on her shirt, she stared at herself in the mirror. _What are you really worried about_? A sigh. _Too many people to be responsible for_. If she died, that was the will of the Force, but the rest of these people?

_Get this ship moving, she told herself, then you can be introspective_.


	3. Command Decision

### 03︱Command Decision

#### New Adasta

#### Ziost

Where Dromund Kaas was their administrative and political capital and Korriban the home of the Sith, Ziost had always been the Empire's true beating heart. Known and revered as the “Gateway to the Empire,” the planet was covered in ancient dark forests and barren tundra. The original seat of Sith power, it was rebuilt in the time between the Great Hyperspace War and the Great Galactic War, during a period of Sith recolonization, when the empire reclaimed many of its holdings lost during the former conflict. Now it sat in a strategic position of Galactic power near their border with the Republic, too well defended for anything but a full-scale assault.

Its metropolitan main city of New Adasta was a major commercial, political, and population center of the reconstituted Sith. Originally constructed atop a rocky crag, the city's Central District was located in the caverns underneath. It was also one of the largest trade hubs in the Empire, merchants from all over flocking to the business districts throughout the town. The centerpiece of the city was the People's Tower, a large skyscraper similar in design to the Imperial Citadel.

Most of the citizens of the city rarely wandered close enough to the sinister-looking building, preferring to check out the galactic-class stores, restaurants, and bars. One of the most popular was the Ultrachrome Club, named after a material popular for warships during the Great Sith War. It was fitting for how brilliantly shiny the bars and imposing statues decorating the walls were. It was frequented only by the elite from Imperial society - the super-rich, Sith lords, and Imperial military officers.

For Captain Guez Raym, his reputation more than sufficed as a reason for entry. The lifespan for a typical rookie pilot was six months, maybe less with the war becoming more intense in the wake of Corellia. A major battlefront he had somehow missed out on. Raym had survived battles over Balmorra, Hoth, and the defense of Celanon - becoming an ace twice over in the process. Survival and the wreckage he left in his wake only proved how indispensable he was among the fighter corps. When his squadron leader was destroyed over Sarapin Four in a run on the Republic cruiser Enkindle, it had been Raym’s quick action that crippled the vessel’s bridge.

It had worked out for the best though, as he was promoted to the 301st Squadron Leader the next day.

_Glory to the Empire_, he thought wryly as he sipped his tall-glassed cocktail. Wisps of steam drifted off of the icy cold beverage. _Pretty damn good_. Not like it should be anything else, considering how much they charged here, but it still beat his expectations. Something to keep in mind for the next round he ordered.

Large, panoramic windows wrapped around the far wall, looking out on the field of stone spires that made up the skyline. An icy sheen on the endless cavern roof gave off an ethereal blue glow, reflecting the city beneath as a field of hazy, multi-colored stars. It was far warmer inside, the humidity from the crowds keeping things comfortable. Groups and couples danced on the colorful, flashing lightfloor to the wailing notes of the kloo horn and beating drums.

Leaning back against the bar, he scanned the crowd, feeling the music while keeping an eye out for anyone interesting. He usually didn’t have much trouble, with his golden brown tones, close cropped beard, and sharp, clean hairline. Plus, the uniform of an Imperial Captain always helped significantly.

A gorgeous face with waves of blonde hair cascading around her shoulders stood near the corner of the bar, sipping her drink quietly as she played with a coaster. Clad in form-fitting scarlet dress, it accentuated all the right areas to draw the gaze. If he had to wager a guess, they both had much the same ideas for this evening – a bit of company.

Raym slide closer, pretending to focus on the band before leaning close to her. “Are you an angel?”

“What?”

“As I’ve traveled, I’ve heard spacers tell tales of angels that appear in dark space and are the most beautiful creatures in the Galaxy.” He leaned on one elbow to get a better look at her. “It seems I’ve encountered one in person.”

She chuckled and shook her head. “Terrible, but I’ll admit it’s one I’ve not heard before.”

“Perhaps your name then?”

“Ora.” She said, offering a bracelet-covered hand.

“Guez.” He replied, taking it in a loose handshake. “What brings you here tonight?”

“The Sonic Squealers.” Ora attempted to sound disinterested, but he knew well enough that it was all part of the odd game. “They don’t play here very often.”

“Ah. Well, it’s fortunate I came then!”

She met his eyes with a smirk. “It appears you are.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Raym caught movement that set off his situational awareness. It’s what had kept him alive all this time. Serious looking bouncers were heading his way, escorting a man who didn’t look much out of the academy. There was no rank or medals on his simple uniform. Raym sighed and set down his drink to face the newcomers.

“What is it? Some sort of emergency?”

The anxious-looking man gave him a sharp salute. “Apologies, sir, but your presence is requested back on board the ship. We’ve been ordered to pull out as soon as possible.”

Raym had had a feeling this might happen. The Commodore always seemed to get orders from High Command or a sudden instinct to go on patrol when port leave was at its peak. He tossed a few clinking credit pieces on the bar and turned to the young woman next to him. “Duty calls, it seems.”

She gave him a polite nod, and it was clear her personal holofrequency wasn’t forthcoming.

His escort motioned back toward the doorway, as it was clear the bouncers were getting antsy. “If you’ll follow me, sir, I have a speeder waiting outside for your convenience.”

“Lead the way.” Raym replied, grabbing his coat.

<< >>  


####  _Nocturne_

#### Foerost Shipyards

Breezing back out of her quarters feeling much more comfortable in familiar clothes, Loke casually strolled towards the bridge. Hard to underestimate the boost of energy and confidence that came with one’s preferred outfit. She needed to finish at least the command-level version of the tour if they planned to leave port. Plus, it would give her a chance to at least form her first impressions of those she'd rely on more than anyone going forward.

Although missions had her work alongside the military in the past, she had never quite acclimated to many of their restrictions and cultural nuances. She appreciated their mission focus and love of partying as much as they fought, but if there was a way to cut down on some of the inefficiency, that was her real goal to shoot for. Then again, if she accomplished that, they might just pin a medal to her chest for winning the real war.

Loke smirked as she walked, examining the walls. She had expected the Republic would make changes to the supplies, some of the weapons systems, the fighters in the bays, but it was clear that smaller details hadn’t escaped their gaze. The pathway to the bridge no longer glowed with the red accent lights, but more of a soft yellow common on Republic vessels. Gone were the stenciled-on cog symbols of the Sith, now replaced with fresh and glossy stenciled emblems of the Republic. _Oddly possessive, but I guess if I wouldn’t let them put the paint job on the outside, they wanted to make their mark somewhere_...

An armored and helmeted Republic soldier, probably one of Bostic’s, snapped a sharp salute. “We’ve been expecting you, Master Jedi. Head on in.” Loke silently took pleasure in how she wouldn’t have to talk her way inside ever again.

When the main door slid open, it was clear they had all been waiting for their cue.

“Attention on deck!” A familiar voice called out as they all came to attention facing the door.

Loke tried to wave them off. “At ease. At ease. I appreciate the respect, but you don’t need to do that every time I come in a room. Happy to finally meet most of you.” She shifted her eyes to her approaching XO. “Eh, you’ll do.”

Group Commander Jacen Inpost shook his head with typical pseudo-annoyance he gave her banter. “Looks like you’re already getting a bit too comfortable on this ship.”

“Good to see you made it, Jacen.”

“Someone had to keep you from crashing this thing into Kaas City.” Inpost looked almost bored with the conversation, but it was easy to mistake his typical laid-back nature. With dark hair and hooded eyes, it was those very traits that made Loke demand he join her crew as second-in-command. “Everyone seems to be getting settled in, and we haven’t run into any major reported problems. It almost has me worried that this thing will wait until we’re behind enemy lines to start falling apart. The Empire definitely did not build their ships for comfort.”

Loke laughed. “Hey, you won’t get any argument from me, but I think it’s because the Empire doesn’t expect anyone to complain about the accommodations and live very long.” She motioned past him and out into space. “I’ll make you a deal: next time we kidnap some Imperial engineers, we can get them to design a comfier ship. In the meantime, make a list of the biggest complaints, and I’ll see what we can get upgraded.”

“Thank you.” He said in a softer tone. Inpost had been around long enough to know how hard it could be to get even standard things fixed, so any improvement was a welcome one. “You going to let me introduce you to the rest of the bridge? Or just let them stand there listening to us?”

“Alright, gather ‘round.” It was a request, not an order as Loke strode past the consoles to the command area. The others stepped out of their stations to follow her and made a semi-circle.

Loke was pleased to see the Republic had made good on just about all of her specific requests. All of the crew members were wearing the battle uniforms rather than the typical dressier officer outfit seen on every Republic base and command staff in the Galaxy.

Made with comfortable but rugged fabrics, it came with a wonderful amount of pocket storage in the pants and vest. Loke wasn’t deaf to the opinions she’d heard throughout the years and knew most military personnel preferred this version over their stiff collared shirts. When trouble inevitably came for them, she wanted the crew to be able to respond quickly and be able to move. Whether it was manning their station, running through the ship, or fighting off a boarding party, range of motion would be essential.

The alien closest to the front gave her a small wave. He had a noseless face, grey-blue skin, and a naturally downturned mouth. “Master Jedi, I’m the helmsman, Specialist Dune Budrom. I just wanted to thank you for giving me this opportunity. It sounded like they were going to assign me to a transport freighter when my commanders told me my orders got changed. Best news I could’ve gotten.”

Loke gave him an amused smile. “I can understand you looking for some action. There aren’t many Neimoidians in the military, so glad that you joined up.”

Budrom’s pink, horizontally-split eyes widened in shock like she had just handed him a case with a million credits inside. “I- I- Thank you! You’re the first officer I’ve ever had that didn’t just assume I was a Duro.” He threw his hands up, but then rapidly tried to backpeddle. “I’m sorry, Master Jedi. That was unprofessional.”

She waved off his concern. “You don’t need to be sorry. I understand that even in the Republic military, a lot of human officers don’t take the time to learn about all the differences between species, and that leads to poor assumptions.”

Although they looked similar and were distant genetic cousins, the Duro and Neimoidian races were literal worlds apart. Duros were known to be an adventurous, gregarious, and peaceful race. Horrible stereotypes abounded for the Neimoidians though – money-grubbing, cowardly, easily intimidated, and fearful of death. Many planets also saw them a disease-carrying people that could infect other species. No, she understood her new helmsman’s concerns more than he realized.

Inpost sounded like he grumbled something about how he knew that it was a Neimoidian. Loke ignored him.

Standing to her left, Loke turned to face the Quarren waiting to speak next. An aquatic humanoid with a squid-like head, two long protrusions extended from either side of her moist, leathery appearance. She had tentacles on her orange face and a small mouth, with two fang-like teeth jutting out. She wore an enlisted crewman’s uniform like Budrom, but much more broken in from her years in the service.

“Calthu R’yr, sir. I’ve been assigned as your weapons officer.” She extended her hand with suction cup fingertips in greeting. “I’ve heard great things about your work against the Imps.”

“I hope I live up to the stories.” Loke chuckled. “Are you originally from Mon Cala?”

She stiffened slightly before correcting her commander. “Unlike the Mon Calamari, my people call our planet Dac, if you don’t mind.”

“My mistake.” Loke apologized. Always better to keep note of cultural preferences. “It seems you have quite the service record, and it’s good to have you on board.”

Her bright blue eyes shimmered. “Permission to speak freely?”

“Continue.”

“I’m unsure about having Chief Spree on this ship with his reputation.”

The Jedi took a deep breath. She had expected this at some point. “Reputations can be deceiving, Gunnery Sergeant. Spree is on this ship because I requested him personally. If you have an issue with his role here, I’d be happy to discuss it with you offline.”

R’yr’s facial tentacles twitched with frustration, but she nodded her understanding. “Of course, sir. Thank you.”

“And I’ll be handling your comms during both flight and battle. Excited for the challenge of vesting the enemy with their own equipment.” Breaking the tension, a young human nodded sharply. She had a bright and affable expression, her light brown hair pulled back in the tight bun standard among long-haired officers. “Ensign Zak Jorys, at your service.”

“Just serve the Republic and do your best. That's all I ask of this crew.”

“So, is it true? Did you actually capture this ship?” Jorys pressed.

Loke laughed. “I had some help, but maybe that goes back to the stories R’yr said she heard.”

“What happened to the others? Were they Jedi too?”

She shook her head in reverie. “One of them was, but the other? She was… something else entirely.”

Ashnox and Jae were long gone. They had jumped on a transport the day after the _Nocturne_ surrendered, anxious to get back to their ship and their droid. She glanced around at the crew and admitted to herself that she would miss those two. She sent the pair an invitation to join her crew, but she understood the Force had them walking a different path.

“We’re ready to head out whenever you are, Commander.” Budrom said politely.

“Good.” Loke looked around at the group. “Anyone else need time to prepare things? All systems are online?”

Nods from around the room confirmed it for her. There was a variety of looks in their eyes. Confidence. Pride. Worry. Excitement. She understood where each of the feelings came from. Most of them swirled inside herself as well. “Let’s get to work then. Budrom, take us out.”

As the group moved back to their stations, Inpost stepped up behind her. “So, what would you prefer the crew call you? Master Jedi? Commander Sanna? Just go with a simple Loke?”

She gave an ambivalent shrug. “No idea. I’ll think about it and see what feels best.”

“Fair enough.”

A shudder reverberated through the ship as the shipyard’s docking clamps released and left the _Nocturne_ floating in its berth. A secondary thrum was the powerful reactor charging up to full strength and slowly moving the ship out of the ring and into open space. The edges of the metal disappeared from view as they moved past the Republic capital ships protecting the planet’s orbit. They were free. Cruising on the sub-light engines, they put the past behind them and headed toward the best jump point into the hyperlanes.

First though, Loke had one more essential task to complete.

Approaching the command console, she found the intra-ship communication panel and specifically opened a holographic channel. It was better for the crew to see her face when she delivered this message. For them to see their new leader, rather than just hear her voice.

"Attention. This is Master Loke Sanna. First, I want to thank you all for joining this crew and putting your faith in the unfamiliar. I have no doubt some of you were voluntold to report, but I hope you'll come to see this ship as your new home. Second, although this is a Republic military vessel, you'll all find I have my own style. After some review, I'll be relaxing some of the less operational restrictions for a bit of morale reasons." She held up her hand to pause any unseen celebrations. "But I want to make myself abundantly clear: this ship will be work hard, play hard. We'll have the Empire hunting us, limited resources, and more than likely suspicion from our own forces. Expect skepticism when what looks like an enemy ship says they're the good guys. I won't lie to you and say this journey will be easy, but if we work as one team, we're going to make a hell of a difference. For the Republic."

Clicking the switch to disconnect, Loke took a deep breath and looked out at the stars. Billions of far off systems burning like beacons against the black. Behind her, she could feel the crew's eyes watching her closely.

"Budrom."

"Sir?"

"Set a course for Carrick Station."

“Acknowledged.”


	4. Second Chance

### 4︱Second Chance

#### Carrick Station

The official on the far side was clear. “_Nocturne_, you are not, I repeat, not cleared for docking.”

“Carrick Control, this is _Nocturne_. What’s the issue?” Jorys spoke to the miniature man on her console.

“There’s no way we’re letting an Imperial craft within the perimeter. Stay where you are, power down your weapons, and wait for escort.” On cue, a trio of Liberator fighters launched in a defensive formation. It was clear they took this situation very seriously. R’yr didn’t wait to deactivate their cannons and missiles in an effort to help defuse the tension. Meanwhile, Jorys traded glances with Budrom, who didn’t seem sure whether to stay put or not.

Inpost motioned for Jorys to transfer the call to his terminal before leaning closer to the defensive hologram. “Carrick, this is Group Commander Inpost. It’s not what it looks like. We’re all Republic in here.”

“Real convincing.” Loke teased.

“How are supposed to prove who we are then?”

“It’s fine.” She had half expected this, but assumed people wouldn’t be this stupid. The problem with assumptions and protocols. Maybe the flashy paint job they kept pushing was the solution to their docking issues. She turned on her heel to leave the bridge. “I’ll just take my fighter and go alone.”

“Are you sure?”

“It’s Carrick Station. If I need protection here, we’ve got bigger problems.”

Behind her, Inpost sighed. “Acknowledged, Carrick. Deploying our commanding officer in a single fighter. Please hold your fire and allow landing clearance.”

The closing blast doors cut off the rest of the required negotiations for permissions. Loke wasn’t worried. Inpost was more than capable of handling the tedious admin work. Even this much pushback was silly, as their identification code was fresh Republic Command.

Strolling back into the forward hangar, she had her datapad up to go over the dossier again. Memorize any notable details. It was better to go into any interview with a game plan, an approach, and checking your notes really broke the rapport. She didn't worry about running into anything, as she always stayed generally alert to obstacles when she walked and read. No, the real dangers were ones she could never prepare for, like tripping over her own feet or the dreaded non-existent objects. Even the Force couldn't fix awkward clumsiness.

Spree made a beeline when he saw her, the helmet in his hand. "I hear we're at Carrick. A bit of port leave?"

She shot him a sideways glance. "Not yet. Didn't you just get on this ship?"

"Always worth asking about amenities."

"I'm off on a recruiting mission. That list was well done."

"I'll pass on your compliments to Cuefive." He slowed to get her attention. "Speaking of amenities, have you eaten yet?"

Loke turned back and kept heading along her course. "Nope."

"When was the last time you slept?"

"Is the fighter prepped?" She appreciated his concern, but tried to avoid the disappointed look aimed at the back of her head.

"Affirmative. Double checked myself."

"Thanks." Taking hold of the ladder, she climbed onto the wing.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" He held up her helmet. "Or even your flightsuit?"

"Skipping it. This will be a blue milk run." Sliding into her seat, she buckled the harness. There weren't many chances to fly without her suit, as it had built in life support functions and mitigated the worst effects of space combat. Not like she'd need that for a simple crossing, but if everything went to hell, the Force could serve as a stand-in. Kicking on the engines, she lowered the canopy and gently eased the scout through the atmospheric field.

The nearby planet glowed blue and brown large masses of puffy white clouds drifting through its atmosphere. Above it hung the saucer-shaped space station with four towers curving outward on both sides, as well as a massive communications antenna extending from the bottom. Carrick Station had come to prominence during the last war, picking up the slack of other logistics bases during the Mandalorian Blockade. Now it was the central hub for the Fleet, key to the operations of the Republic itself. Around it sat numerous bulbous cruisers, smaller corvettes, and a handful of large transports. Enough to ruin the day of even a well-prepared Imperial offensive.

Loke took her time as she kept her sublight engines at a leisurely cruising speed. There was already enough suspicion between her crew and the landing controllers. Besides, there was technically no one waiting for her on board the station. It was nice to just keep one hand on the controls while wrapped in the comforting confines of her cockpit. Watch the shimmer of the galactic belt and twinkle of sunlight reflecting off distant freighters as Carrick Station grew larger in front of her.

Her gauges and sensors glowed gently around her, keeping her informed about any changes to her current situation. One displayed communications, another had blips for every ship in local space and one very large signature for the station. There was something about the tight quarters that she preferred to the bridge of the Nocturne. Maybe it was that she could play every role – weapons, comms, helmsman. It meant she could react faster and strike back harder than transferring the order through a crew member. _Does that mean I have control issues? Probably, but at least I know if I go down in flames, I only have myself to blame_.

The hangar she landed in was designated for military traffic only, and mainly contained Liberator fighters tasked for station defense. Loke wondered if the trio currently buzzing around the _Nocturne_ came from here. Following the droid motioning her with glowing arms, she hovered to one side and settled onto what seemed like the only open section of the deck.

Almost all the crew here ignored her as she jumped down from her fighter and strolled toward the far end’s turbolifts. Only the Desk Sergeant looked up from his console, and she gave him a knowing nod as she passed. There were enough Jedi passing through this waypoint with the war, and it was clear from her fighter’s unique colors that she was no typical space jockey.

Loke was intimately familiar with Carrick Station, having passed through dozens of times on her way to somewhere else. Most of those trips had been to the current Jedi Temple on Tython, but she only returned with she absolutely had to. The Council had never quite seen eye-to-eye with her on most things. It came with the wonderful side effect of polite but tense meetings where she needed to justify her actions, even if she had saved lives in the process. She was a Master they could never control, as much as they tried, and it was clearly a sore issue.

Still, she usually tried to pick up some of the more obscure sweets and drinks while she was here. A lot of quality products just never made it to Coruscant. Something to make a mental list of while she walked, and then make her shopping trip on the way out. There should be enough space in her small cargo compartment to take it back to the ship. Might be good to grab some extra to gift to the crew.

Walkways were packed with soldiers, flight crews, civilians, droids, and laborers heading in a dozen directions. There must have been a lot more battalions transferring through as the war expanded to a greater and greater number of systems. A good sign on the war effort front and the resources to wage it, but Loke wondered quietly if this place could handle this many people and ships at once. At least the foot traffic was generally moving without incident, so it wouldn’t take too long to make it where she needed to go.

Most of the main level’s outer ring was taken up with shops containing a wide variety of goods. Weapons and related accessories, starship upgrades, clothing, customized sets of armor, personal speeders, and even household furniture. An ideal spot for most spacers to get what they needed without worrying about going planetside and searching for the supplies they needed. Four hallways connected the inner and outer rings, while also providing lift access to more specialized areas – shuttle bays, mission planning offices, even an enclave for the Bounty Broker’s Association.

She passed a grated gate that covered one of the currently transitioning shops. A sign on the outside proclaimed ‘VACANT SPACE FOR RENT. CONTACT MANAGEMENT FOR PRICING.’ One merchant moving off the station and creating the opportunity for another to move in. Its dark interior seemed a bit foreboding in comparison to the colorful lights and busy voices of the shop next door. Piles of vibrant fabrics filled the shelves alongside bins of clasps and buttons. A row of seamstress droids buzzed along the back wall, creating custom garments for their master’s clients. She could only guess how much one of their higher-quality products would cost.

Now that would cause some debate at the Temple. There had always been a bit of a disagreement among the Jedi Masters about the fancier things in life. One side preferred to maintain a very meager lifestyle, wearing plain robes and eschewing anything flashy. Some even sought out uncomfortable fabrics to keep themselves humble. Others, including a few on the Jedi Council, were not quite so limiting. They saw quality robes with embroidered patterning, large shoulder panels, and elaborate headgear as embodying the light side. A symbol that others could look to as defenders and protectors of the innocent.

Loke found herself somewhere in the middle – wearing her own blend of Jedi and civilian while trying not to draw too much attention to herself. Those who were looking to hurt people would find justice no matter what she was wearing.

Making her way down the ramp, she spotted the sign for the Intrafleet Transit Service. She only hoped the person she was looking for was on the other side of that door. Groups of military personnel trickled in through the door, likely hopping on the next scheduled shuttle across the inky divide to the massive ships parked outside. It was how almost everyone serving on a capital ship could make their way on board for shopping, food, and a break from the same bulkheads every day. There were only a couple shuttles sitting idle, their pilots standing outside the cockpit and completing their required checks before launching. Neither of them appeared to be the pilot from the dossier in her hand.

Approaching the main service desk, there were two protocol droids handing the general questions about scheduling and customer issues. Loke allowed herself a bit of a snicker that there were no organic workers in that position. If there was a way to avoid dealing with constant complaints, cargo handling problems, missed flights, and a steady stream of anger, better to leave it to those programmed to always be level and calm.

“Greetings, valued customer! Welcome to Intrafleet Transit Services! How can we serve you today?”

“I’m looking for Lieutenant Ibri. Have you seen her?”

“Apologies.” The droid said with programmed sympathy that seemed somehow insincere. “The Lieutenant is not currently providing transport services. She completed her duty shift approximately twenty standard minutes ago. Her current whereabouts are unknown.”

“Is there a holofrequency I could reach her on?”

“It is company policy not to provide employee information to unauthorized persons.”

Loke let out a frustrated noise. She could definitely see why they used droids for this. No way for her to use a simple mind trick on them, and if an angry customer dismantled their representative, they could just repair or replace them. “Thanks anyway.”

Heading toward the shuttles, she kept her head on a swivel. Hopefully she hadn’t made it too far away, because searching the whole station would be prohibitively time consuming. Checking the chronometer on the wall, Loke stopped in her tracks. _No, I won’t find her here_. There was, however, one place that she would find almost anyone at this time of day.

In the center of the station was the main restaurant and gathering area, unimaginatively known as the Fleet Cantina. Open at all hours, the centrally located tower had a circular bar that was broken up only by small lifts that led to the VIP lounge. The cantina was busy at this time of day, more for its food selections than its libations. Those waiting for their shuttle onward mixed with the workers of the station grabbing a quick break before heading back to the grind.

Moving to the bar, Loke leaned against the wall to watch the young woman eat. It wasn’t a sinister act, but a way of analyzing her before she approached. In contrast to the other tables with groups of friends and coworkers enjoying their lunch, the pilot sat alone at a small table. She wore the standard flight suit given to shuttle pilots, somehow plainer and less flattering than those built for combat pilots, a patch for the Intrafleet Transit Service prominent on her shoulder. Leaning forward on her elbows, she surrounded the plate with her arms as she ate. Keeping her head down, she ignored all the noise and people milling about with her own brooding. Even from here, the Jedi could sense her sullen and discontented mood.

Giving it another minute, it was time to make her move. Waiting too long would have the pilot finish and disappear into the crowd again. Loke slid into the seat across from her, which clearly disturbed her introspection.

She didn’t wait to finish chewing before asking the obvious question. “Can I help you?”

“I’m looking for a pilot. Goes by Larka Ibri.”

“I’m off duty.” She almost spat. “If you need to be ferried to one of the fleet ships, there’s a kiosk three levels down. They can take care of you.”

The Jedi put her hands on the table. “What about if I’m looking for something a bit faster? A Flashfire, perhaps?”

Ibri scoffed. “Yeah, I wish. Haven’t flown a fighter since Anaxes, and I doubt I ever will again.”

“You seem pretty sure about that.”

She stopped eating and set down her utensils to really look Loke in the eye. “Is there a point to this? Some sort of job? If not, I really don’t know why you picked me to share a table with. I’m just trying to keep my head down and do my duty.”

Loke had been ready to present the opportunity, but everything she saw in the young woman brought her back to one question. “Yes, but if you’re willing to share, what happened on Anaxes?”

A wave of pain and anger filled her in a building storm, darkening her brown eyes. Loke could feel it through the Force even across the table. Old memories and poor treatment brought back to the surface. She had read the woman’s dossier, gone over her own notes, but somehow she had known that there was more to the story. Even before Ibri spoke again, she was pretty sure she knew what was coming.

“You really want to know my side of it?” Her voice wavered, unsure if this newcomer had come to torture her, but at least she was listening. Taking her free hand, she pushed a lock of dark, straight hair behind her ear. “It was the night before our final training mission, the one that determines if we’ve picked up the requisite skills for graduation and assignment to the fleet. I was so excited and anxious and spent the better part of the previous week practicing non-stop. Even when I couldn’t fly an actual fighter, I was in the simulator testing my limits.

“So, anyway, night before. Most of my classmates had gone out to the local bar for one last crazy party. You’d think they’d skip a hangover for the final in lieu of a larger celebration when they passed, but to each their own.” She chewed the inside of her mouth. “One of the instructors came looking for me. A Captain that had taught a lot of our dogfighting drills. That part doesn’t really matter. I thought he had stopped by to check on me, at least that’s how he made it sound. But then he came into my room and tried a bunch of lame compliments as he sat next to me and tried rubbing my shoulders.”

The Jedi fought the fire that was growing in her stomach. _That slimy Huttspawn_. Even with years of practice controlling her emotions, it was hard not to feel anger and disgust at the little injustices that happened all the time in the Republic.

“I asked him to stop nicely, but he just started getting belligerent. Telling me that I owed him for all he taught me, implying that my score on the final might go down if I couldn’t be ‘a team player.’”

Loke stared at her with the intensity of a kell dragon protecting her young. “How did you respond?”

“I punched him in the throat.” Her voice was flatter now. “Clean hit, just like they taught us in our hand-to-hand combat course. He barely stumbled out of there. I knew what would happen, but I couldn’t let myself go through with what he wanted. The next day, they told me I was being charged with attacking a superior officer. My punishment was expulsion from the fighter corps. I tried to plead my case, but it was obvious I wasn’t the first person he’d tried to prey on.” She motioned around her. “So, now I’m here, playing ferry. I missed my chance to join my unit on Corellia, and at this rate, I’ll never see the front lines.”

“Like hell you will.” Loke stood with newfound vigor. “I command a ship new to the Republic fleet, and I need a good wingman. I think I just found the perfect one.”

Ibri half stood in surprise. It almost knocked over her plate as she did so. “Are you serious?”

“Deadly serious. Pack your bags, because we’re getting you the hell out of here and back into the cockpit.”


	5. Nightcap

### 5︱Nightcap

####  _Infinity_

####  _Delta-Class_ Carrier

Raym’s boots echoed on the shuttle’s boarding ramp as he exited onto the flight deck. The bay was nearly empty, making him wonder what the rush to recall him was all about. Not that the half dozen squadrons stationed on board didn't needed to be ready to launch when they were still deep in Imperial space. A potential attack or ambush should always be expected regardless as a matter of good discipline – it was a cornerstone lesson of the Imperial Academy.

_Delta-class_ Carriers were uniquely designed as combat support ships, triangular in shape with six large hangar bays hung underneath. That was more than even the largest Imperial Dreadnoughts. It lacked the rows of turbolasers and missile batteries of most capital ships, but it made up for it by being a buzzing hive of offensive power to quickly overwhelm and destroy any target. If an enemy attack made it through the waves of interceptors and deadly bombers, then the pilots had utterly failed in their duty.

Mk VI interceptors hung on their hooks leading up the walls for space considerations. It allowed a greater number of fighters while leaving the central part of the hangar clear for shuttle landings like his own. Order and efficiency. Everything in its place, just as it was meant to be.

Clad in the black uniform and light armor of Imperial pilots, a blond man approached with his hair close cropped on the sides and swept back on top. It was a popular hairstyle among Imperial officers for its severe yet coiffed appearance. The pilot gave Raym a warm smile as he grew closer.

“Never a dull moment in service of the Emperor, is there sir?”

Normally such familiarity was frowned upon between superiors and their subordinates, but Lieutenant Nhat Bantol was an exception. He attended the Imperial Academy at the same time, although hadn’t risen through the ranks quite as quickly as his classmate. For some, that might have caused bitterness or resentment, but Bantol seemed content avoiding the bureaucracy that came with the responsibility of higher ranks.

Raym smirked at his second-in-command. “The Emperor may be gone, but I’m starting to think the Empire is jealous of me having a love life. Any chance they’ll try to make me marry my service contract?”

“If we keep up our streak of successes against the Republic, they might make all of us lifers.”

“No good deed goes unpunished.” Raym shook his head. “Are they all assembled?”

“Of course, sir. They’re waiting for you in the ready room.”

Moving next to one another, they crossed the busy hangar and entered the myriad hallways connecting everything on the ship. Every twenty meters or so was a bumped-out support frame containing a blast door. It was the only way to seal off and protect as much of the ship as possible during a hull breach. They were also extremely useful for sealing in enemy troops if the ship was ever boarded during a battle. Trap the intruders in a small area until they could be surrounded by the security force on board and eliminated.

“So, I didn’t ask when we were discussing my love woes.” Raym cast a glance at his friend. “How’s your wife?”

Bantol chuckled. “Beja still tolerates me after all this time, so I’ll consider that a victory. I need to make some time to slip planetside next time we have a chance for shore leave though. After being gone these past months on patrol, I figure that a gift might help to ease the ache of my absence.”

“Surely she understands that there’s a war on and that you’re fighting for her way of life.”

“She does.” He said quickly. An involuntary reaction to a culture where disloyalty could be punished severely. “But her patriotism can only make up for me not being around for so long. Perhaps something a bit exotic from one of the colonies? Jewelry seems a bit too cliché”

“If we can break the Republic lines, I’ll personally help you find a wonderful trophy to send her from Chandrila”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

Fortunately, there wasn’t far to walk, as it only made sense to keep the ready room near the hangars for the sake of general readiness. The durasteel door remained closed, but they could already hear the voices carrying through from the other side as a dozen conversations happened at once. Bantol started to reach for the door controls when Raym placed a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

“How’s the old man?” He asked quietly.

Bantol stiffened ever so slightly. “Commodore Novia is fine. Why?”

After a couple tours on board the _Infinity_, Raym would have used many adjectives to describe Commodore Charz Novia – cold, humorless, calculating – but ‘fine’ was definitely not one of them. “It’s not often we get recalled, and I know how he’s been more tense than usual since Corellia. Just want to make sure I know what I’m about to walk into, and if I should be worried.”

“Worry not, old friend.” A smirk crossed his lips. “A series of favorable accidents presented itself, and the Commodore is too shrewd to pass it up.”

Sliding upward, the door revealed a rectangular box of a room with rows of desks placed classroom-style to allow everyone a decent view. Datapads and half-empty drinks sat on most of them as the pilots kept themselves updated on the daily intelligence reports and awake enough to survive the meeting without a reprimand for dozing. A podium stood against the wall, next to a large holoprojector that glowed idly while it waited for input. No one seemed to notice the newcomers as they carried on joking and chatting.

“Attention on deck!” Bantol called out, bringing everyone to their feet and sharply to attention.

Looking around the room, the group was a mix of both helmeted and non-helmeted pilots, all of them human. Almost a guarantee with the Imperial regulations forbidding aliens to serve in the Imperial Navy. According to the Ministry of Information broadcasts, there were supposedly a few Sith Purebloods among the officer ranks and pilots, but Raym had never seen one personally. Non-Force sensitive Sith were very rare among their species, and passively looked down upon by their brethren as weaker. Regardless, their racial purity meant they remained among the ruling classes. Most ended up as diplomatic service bureaucrats or personal assistants to major dark lords.

“Everyone be seated.” Raym ordered calmly. There was no need to yell. His pilots never needed more than a gentle reminder to wrap up their side conversations and come to order.

Lieutenant Bantol moved to the podium automatically while Raym hung back near the front wall. It only made sense to cede the floor when his subordinate was fully briefed on their orders and willing to present to the whole group. Any other time it wouldn’t have been necessary, as Raym would have met with the Commodore himself during their daily Commander’s Brief.

Dazzling blue-white light shifted to create a glowing orb hovering in mid-air, its terrain and cloud patterns appeared as ripples on the surface. It looked much like a hundred other worlds with its varied biomes and seas. A series of flashing red icons floated nearby denoting enemy capital ships just outside the planet’s gravity well.

“Scouts from our Third Expeditionary Force have spotted a Republic patrol fleet near Malastare. Reports claim that one of the _Valor-class_ cruisers has sustained serious damage after an accidental collision with a private freighter. The rest of the ships are holding in a standard defensive formation while they carry out repairs. Command believes this is the perfect opportunity to wipe out the whole force when they’re at their most vulnerable.”

“Excuse me, sir.” One of the pilots halfway back raised a quick hand. “What loadout is command looking for? Will we be conducting the actual strike?”

Bantol shook his head. “Basic combat loadout only and the crew chief has already been informed. We’ll be supporting the Fifty-third Bomber Wing on this sortie. They’ll be conducting the main strike on the ship with ion and proton bombs. Our role will be exclusively escort duty, drawing the Pub fighters away and thinning out some of the turbolasers. The more damage we can do, the easier it’ll be for our comrades to make their own run.”

Raym took the opportunity to move up next to him at the podium. “You’ve all done operations like this before, whether at the academy or live combat. Stick to your protocols and trust in your training. We move as a squadron – a deadly pack hunting together to take down larger prey. If you fall behind, you risk both yourself and the whole mission.”

A few murmurs reverberated among the pilots, quiet comments between wingmen about what lay ahead of them. He ignored it. There had been enough times when he had been in their seats during a surprise mission brief. Unless it became too disruptive, there was no reason to discourage the momentary grumble or preemptive bragging about upcoming kills. Each of them would process it in their own way, and as long as they were focused when the time came, Raym had nothing to worry about.

“I want all of you in your cockpits and ready to launch the second we jump into system. Overwhelm and eliminate any enemies we find without hesitation. For the Empire.”

“For the Empire!” A dozen voices responded in harmony.

“Dismissed.”

<< >>  


####  _Nocturne_

Crossing from the flight deck back into the hallways, a satchel stuffed with a wide variety of sweets dangled from Loke's hand. Fruity, salty, ones with a caf-flavored filling - she knew nothing motivated like edible morale. There was already a few packages sitting on her wing for the flight crews to share. Assuming Spree didn't get to them first. 

She strode with purpose toward the armory, assuming it was about time to check in with the troopers billeted onboard. _I was invited, after all_. There were no longer sentries outside the door, but there was now a full squad of armed soldiers inside, rather than just weapons. Besides, what were the chances they’d be boarded twice in a matter of months? She chuckled with amusement. There wasn’t much room for anyone else to land anyway.

Inside the armory were weapon racks along the walls of blaster rifles and standard issue pistols for defense of the ship. A few crates of explosives were stacked in one corner, covered in warning labels, holding grenades and heavy explosives for sabotage operations. Against the back wall was a tactical planning console that Republic engineers had jury-rigged into place, based on the thick tangle of wires jutting out. It would save the team time to be able to review battle plans, made adjustments, and grab the correct loadout all in one place.

Between missions though, there were a handful of tables bolted to the floor. The soldiers sitting around them were having light-hearted conversations, cleaning weapons, and trading war stories. Someone had brought a Dejarik table on board as well, a pair leaning in with focused faces as they tried to outmaneuver each other with the holographic creatures. Loke knew the game well enough, if she could find some time next time they were cruising through hyperspace to sneak back down here.

One of the soldiers snapped to attention. “Master Jedi! This is a surprise. You come down to slum it with the grunts?”

“Just dropping something off.” She lifted the satchel to show it off. Heading toward a far table, she began emptying the bag next to an open crate of pre-packaged ration bars. “And then looking for the Colonel.”

“What’ve you got there?” He asked with hopeful curiosity.

"Thought I’d bring your team something with a bit more flavor.” She commented playfully as she headed toward their commanding officer. “Make sure not to spoil your appetites."

Excited voices rose behind her as most of the enlisted troops made their way over to the table to check out their options. It seemed the simple gift was more effective than she had expected. She made a mental note to start picking up more treats for everyone next time she headed off the ship.

“Thanks for the gift, Master Sanna.” Bostic said as he stood from his desk and gave her a slow salute. “It’ll give me a reason to push them a little harder during training tomorrow.”

“No problem.”

“Something I can help you with?”

Loke motioned around the room. “Figured I’d take you up on your offer to stop by and see how we could work better together. I also thought up some codenames during my flight. What do you think of using ‘Warlock’ for the ship designations?”

Bostic chuckled. “As long as I can make the shuttle ‘Warlock Heavy,’ you’ve got a deal. It has a certain weight to it, pun intended.”

“Excellent. In that case, if you could order Warlock Heavy over to Carrick before we leave the system, I need someone to pick up our new pilot.”

“Of course. We’ll send someone shortly.”

“Oh, and I wanted to check with you to see if there were any targets of opportunity you’d suggest. Somewhere to test our capabilities that might have come up in recent intelligence reporting.”

“Happy to oblige.” The man nodded knowingly. His hands moved across the desk, shifting blaster power cells and the administrative forms he was working on to sift through a pile of datapads. After dismissing and setting a few of them to the side, he motioned for a Sergeant to bring him a datapad sitting on the shelf before presenting the glowing screen to her. “Here we go. SIS is reporting that they’ve intercepted shipments of Bubse tree extract being sent to an Imperial lab in the Outer Rim. There’s no indication on what the Imps are trying to do with the extract.”

Loke skimmed the analyst’s notes, seeing if any answers jumped out at her. “Well, the Bubse tree only really grows on Saleucami, and is typically used for medicinal purposes… Perhaps it’s some sort of experimental anesthetic?”

The Sergeant laughed at her response. “What makes you some sort of expert on exotic medicines? I thought Jedi were all about using their powers to heal the sick.”

She felt the muscles in her jaw tighten automatically, but took a breath before responding. “A degree in Biochem from the Royal University of Alderaan always helps.”

“Sergeant Kount,” Bostic’s eyes narrowed, “how about you go make sure our inventory lists are correct?”

“Sir.” The trooper replied sheepishly, saluting and slipping away.

“Thank you, Colonel.” Loke said with a nod. “Please let Commander Inpost know when Lieutenant Ibri is on board.”

“As you command.”

Her walk to her quarters was uneventful and she only passed a couple crew members that barely looked up to acknowledge her with a salute. Even for her skill with the Force, she would never be as intimidating as a fully uniformed Admiral. Loke wasn’t protesting. The less interaction with others right now, the better. Not that she didn’t want to hear the crew’s legitimate concerns, but many of them could wait for a more convenient time. Unlocking the hatch, the doorway revealed the dim light on next to the bed. 

It was the most welcoming thing she’d seen all day.

Tapping a few keys on her desk console, there was a two-tone ring as she called the called the bridge. It saved her both the walk and the inevitable spiral of conversation when she needed some time to regroup.

"Glad you're back." Inpost's voice came through the console. "Guessing you have orders?"

"The Colonel's shuttle-" she corrected herself, "_Warlock Heavy_ is headed to pick up our new pilot. Once it's back on board, head for the Saleucami system. Contact me in my quarters if there's an emergency."

"Will do, Master-Commander-Loke."

Loke rolled her eyes as she disconnected. It wasn’t worth the energy to even push back against him right now.

Retrieving a bottle of Commenor brandy from the bottom of her gear crate and a mug from her desk, Loke dropped on top of the sheets. She blew into the mug once to make sure no dust had settled as she poured a couple fingers into the bottom. A pretty solid… however long it had been. Probably a couple days since she last checked, but space and local time zones could do that. Grabbed a fighter, took command of a formerly Imperial capital ship, flew to the heart of the Republic, found a new wingman. Not bad at all. Now for a bit of a nightcap, and maybe she could rest for a respectable amount of time before the next crisis.

Even with the swirl of exhaustion and the new warmth of the brandy, Loke shook her head at the ignorance of that trooper. She would never understand why everyone ended up giving her the same dumbfounded look whenever she mentioned having a degree. It was like Jedi were only supposed to learn the absolute basics about anything that wasn’t the Force and ignore science, galactic politics, or xenobiology. Loke had collected a handful of advanced degrees through the years, either by making time for virtual courses on the Holonet, or attending every class in person. Whenever she was posted to a new planet, it only made sense to try and learn something at the same time. For almost every new city or outpost, it also helped with her cover and blending into the populace. Easier to be accepted and seen as harmless when it’s just another student attending classes and trying to get high enough marks to graduate.

But maybe that had been a product of the war as well. The Sith Empire returned from their millennia-long exile a few years before she was born, seizing worlds and slaughtering Republic citizens. Loke spent the first twenty-three years of her life training to be a Jedi and devoting her life to destroying the dark side in any form. She had saved cities, killed enemies, and lost her best friend in a botched operation, but it never stopped her resolve. Then everything fell apart. The Sith offered a false peace agreement in the regal castles of Alderaan just to launch a surprise attack on the Republic capital. Buildings across Coruscant burned, the Jedi Temple was destroyed, and the Sith murdered the Chancellor along with half the Jedi Council. After that came surrender, not peace. The Republic ceded countless worlds to the Empire, her Order had retreated to Tython, and violence still simmered through proxy wars.

Until the last year or so, when both sides stopped pretending the war had ended. Loke was there on Corellia after the Empire convinced the ruling council to hand the planet over. Infiltrating herself down through the blockade to the surface in an attempt, any attempt to bleed the Imperial war effort. And she had succeeded. Delivering key parts of Axial Park back to the Corellian Resistance and the Republic military, helping to kill one of the main Sith commanders, and even saving dozens of escaped zoo animals in the process. That last part seemed a low priority at the time, but may have been the hardest task of them all. She shook her head. Her Padawan’s insistence had been more convincing than Loke expected.

And now it was one of many war stories to add to her collection. Not that she was one to save a planet and tell.

Draining her glass, she adjusted her position on the bed to try and get in a meditation session. It had been drilled into her as a cornerstone of a Jedi's mental and spiritual wellbeing, and the best way to really commune with the Force. A time to clear her mind and let go of all the stress that had built up with the whirlwind of life. Getting comfortable, she leaned back slightly to use the wall for support.

Within moments, she drifted off to sleep.


	6. Wounded Valor

### 6︱Wounded Valor

#### Training Room

####  _Nocturne_

Zak Jorys dropped into a low stance as she adjusted the grip on her training saber. Activating the power switch, a yellowish field rippled down its length. Technically considered an electroblade, the cylindrical melee weapon would deliver a painful shocks rather than any sort of cut or lasting damage. It was a stand-in for the razor-sharp vibrosword stashed in her gear locker. One she rarely got to actually use. She had specially ordered the weapon a few years earlier from a supplier in the Promenade Market on Coruscant. An old Jedi master that had ended up gifting it to her when it came time for the bill. She’d offered the man credits, but he’d insisted that her mere interest in Jedi ways would help protect the Galaxy. When she’d asked him what he meant, he only left her with a cryptic answer:

_‘Your path is the will of the Force.’_

Unlike most of her fellow crew members, the Force wasn’t something to be dismissed lightly. She followed the teachings she’d grown up on, meditating and trusting in the will of something many felt too chaotic and out of their grasp. Her sessions here were much like those on her last ship, letting herself be guided by a feeling she couldn’t put into words. It brought her a sense of overwhelming peace, even when she found herself soaked in sweat by the end of a session. Her favorite kind of catharsis.

While they were in hyperspace was the best time to slip away from her post. There was little reason to keep everyone working their stations while cruising, unless there was an emergency. Budrom had assured her he could handle things while she was gone anyway. Jorys wore her typical training gear - a gray sleeveless top and dark blue lightweight pants, the latter emblazoned with the Republic emblem. It kept her cool while giving her the range of motion she needed for her blade practice. Keeping down distractions so she could focus on her form.

Taking a calming breath, she brought the weapons down in slashing chops, landing diagonally across the shoulders before sliding past the humanoid dummy to strike from the back. _Thwack, thwack! Thwack, thwack_! She ducked under an imagined swing and landed a few more parries to the body.

Varying her attacks was crucial, because unlike the figure in front of her, most enemies would be fighting back for their lives. No more than a few critical blows before she would retreat some to practice her blocks and parries. Staying in motion to keep from being hit and keep her opponent off balance. Defending behind her back, she spun on her target to strike it hard with a killing blow. She used a two-handed grip for control, and the weapon crackled with the impact.

If the figure had been made of flesh, the hits would have been guaranteed to leave them disabled on the floor.

"Good form," Loke’s voice came from the doorway, "just don't forget to plant your weight. A lightsaber gives freedom in its destructive power. With a solid blade though, you need that foundation to get momentum for the strike."

Jorys dropped the crackling rod's tip to the floor. "Master Sanna."

All she got from the Jedi was an amused chuckle. "Wasn’t trying to interrupt. Maybe when I have some time, we could spar together."

"Yes! I mean, thank you. I'd be honored." She'd never actually trained with a Jedi before, but even the opportunity was more than she could have hoped.

"Have you eaten?" Loke asked with a yawn. "I'm starving, and I know if I don't eat soon, Chief Spree will put me in binders and carry me down himself."

“I’d like that.”

Ten minutes later, and minus one training saber, the pair entered the ship’s utilitarian mess hall. Drab metal tables ran in horizontal rows through the room with benches bolted to either side. Everything seemed to be the same flat gray color, save for dark indentions in the wall where the Imperial emblem used to hang. Not that Jorys had expected anything fancier when she first visited this room, but the lack of color seemed to drain any positivity out of the few crew members that sat quietly eating.

Jorys had slipped a light jacket on before leaving the training room, warding off the typical chill that pervaded warship hallways. Even compensating for the icy temperatures of deep space, the climate control systems never seemed to be warm enough for her preference. When she was training it could actually be helpful, but now that she had slowed down she found herself feeling the effects.

On the far side was a standard line with trays and a counter to pick up the food on offer for the day. Republic or Imperial, that part never really changed. Why change simple things that got the job done? A lone Imperial-model factotum droid was dishing out food from a steaming tray. What was in the tray, however, was a pile of oddly gelatinous brown-gray bars.

“What in the Galaxy is that?” Loke asked with mild disgust.

The silver droid with red photoreceptors sounded almost cheery in its response. “Standard blocks of nutrient paste, calorically optimized for human dietary needs.”

Jorys poked the block on her plate with a fork. “Hopefully it tastes better than it looks.”

“Flavor is not a consideration in fulfilling the needs of the crew.”

Loke set down her tray and leaned closer. “What’s your designation number?”

“I am Twopee-Whyzero, culinary services droid. Since activation, I have been stationed aboard this vessel. During recent refits, my loyalty programming was switched from the Sith Empire to Galactic Republic.”

“It appears your reprogramming didn’t include updated recipes.”

TP-Y0 gave a single, sharp nod. “That is correct. I continue to utilize the standard Imperial culinary preparation suite provided with my original activation.”

Loke let out a frustrated grunt. “Well, Toopyo, looks like we’re going to need to make some updates. Providing you with ingredients that don’t come in sludge form might help as well.”

Moving away from the counter, the pair found seats in an empty area to sit and chat. The more Jorys looked at the jiggling object on her plate, the less appetite she seemed to have. Part of her mind was already wandering, trying to remember if she still had some snacks hidden away amongst the items in her footlocker. Even an old bag of Bantha jerky would be parsecs better than this.

“So,” Loke began as she sized up how to approach her meal, “not many naval personnel that I’ve seen training with vibroblades over blasters. What made you decide to pick that up as a hobby?”

Jorys hesitated, almost embarrassed to admit it. “I- I’m a Dai Bendu, and it’s always felt like training a bit like a Jedi helps me become a bit more in tune with the Force. Be carried along with the stream, if that doesn’t sound too poetic.”

“A Dai Bendu?” The Jedi master cocked her head slightly. “I don’t think I’ve ever met a practitioner personally. Usually I just hear about the Dai Bendu monks that are usually hidden away in seclusion.”

“Although the monks do exist, there are more of us out there. You know, normal people.” She had expected part of that reaction. It was true that the most well-known of her religion were those wearing robes and carrying out deeply complex rituals away from the Galaxy at large. “Most of us just follow the tenants and live our lives the best we can under the teachings of respecting and learning from the living Force.”

Loke tried to take a forkful of the paste before her face contorted. She politely spit the mouthful into a napkin. “Blegh. Fair enough. Makes me glad we sat down, as I never would have expected to find a non-Jedi with an interest in the Force. Have you had any trouble from those who know?”

A question that was more complicated than it seemed on the surface. “No, not usually. I’ve had colleagues that didn’t quite understand or might tease me about it now and then, but never anything openly malicious.” A smirk crossed her lips. “The biggest problem has been in dating, the tribulations of finding someone that appreciates and follows Dai Bendu as well.”

“You’re telling me.” Loke remarked as she played with her food.

The response caught Jorys’s attention, but she didn’t push. She didn’t think that Jedi had romantic attachments, but perhaps the woman was expressing solidarity. Or maybe she wasn’t quite the typical Jedi. Either way, it was nice to have someone who understood her plight.

Loke pushed her tray away and reached into a pouch on her belt. Producing a couple small candies, she handed one to Jorys. “How did you end up joining the military? Did you kill a corrupt official in the Outer Rim and flee to start over?”

The laugh that burst forth surprised her. She hadn’t expected the Jedi to have a sense of humor. “Nothing quite so exciting. My father was military as well, and so I spent most of my childhood on Coruscant growing up in that world. When I came of age, following in his footsteps and serving the Republic just seemed like the path I was meant to take.”

Raising a cup of water, Loke gave her a nod. “Glad to have you on board.”

Jorys raised her own to meet her. “Honored to serve.”

<< >>  


#### Malastare

Another Liberator fighter shattered as Raym’s cannon fire tore through its fuselage. A green-white flash of burning plasma and venting oxygen. The Republic pilots were cornered animals, fighting for their lives. It should have made them dangerous and deadly. Instead, they were desperate and too individualistic. Breaking away from the defending capital ships while spewing fire at the Imperial fleet. By trying to be the heroes of their own story, they were being quickly picked off by the 301st’s coalescing swarms.

Their intelligence had been perfectly accurate – A single _Valor-class_ cruiser hanging outside the planet’s orbit while three of its supporting _Thranta-class_ corvettes and a _Wanderer-class_ supply ship encircled in a defensive perimeter. A textbook tactic, allowing overlapping lines of fire from each ship’s turbolasers. _Perhaps I should give Sith Intelligence a bit more credit from now on_, he thought with a hint of pride.

Even with their own _Terminus-class_ frigates occupying the Republic defenders, there was far too much firepower for a direct assault on the wounded cruiser. Stationary or not, the bulbous flagship was a fortress bristling with firepower. Between their ship-based weapons and zealous fighter squadrons, Raym needed to make an opening for the bombers to utilize. Something to distract the enemy while the Empire dismantled them, ship by ship.

The answer seemed almost too simple as it occurred to him: Ship-by-ship. A little patience could change the whole battlespace.

Raym flicked his eyes to check the position of the fleet and activated his comm frequency. “Spear Two, take Spear Three, Five, and Six to attack that transport. I want it burning like a beacon.”

“Roger that, Spear Leader.” Bantol sounded confident.

A good sign. It meant he remembered their war-game winning maneuver from the Academy. Transports were rarely targeted when there were more powerful destroyers and dreadnoughts around, but that made them perfect for a strike. They had the least defensive firepower, held most of a fleet’s logistical support, and were rarely prepared to hold off a direct assault. Harassing the ship would easily divide the Republic fighters, pulling many away from their primary target – the cruiser.

“Behind you, Spear Leader!” This was Spear Four’s voice. She had a keen eye for spotting danger, and it was paying off yet again.

Jerking the controls to the right, a few bolts came from the fighter that had snuck up on Raym’s tail. _Wait, make that two fighters_. He’d survived worse, but that didn’t mean he had time to be cocky.

He flipped his Mk VI over and dove toward the bridge of the cruiser. There was little chance he would cause any damage, but it would keep his pursuers from firing on their own flagship. “Spear Four, head to the outside and thin out those cannons. Spear Seven, take the underside of the cruiser and target the shield generators.”

“Affirmative.” Came the reply. They knew better than to question his orders. If he wasn’t asking for them to come assist him, then he didn’t need their help. Both wingmen broke off and headed to their assigned areas.

Waiting until the last minute to pull up, Raym’s fighter made it inside the cruiser’s shields to negate their best line of defense. The pilots behind him slowed to try and compensate before giving chase again. Nipping at his heels, Raym shifted to target one of the main turbolaser batteries that had not picked him up as a target yet. Holding down the trigger, the Imperial fighter’s cannons danced across the emplacement before it blew apart into fire and shrapnel. Barrel-rolling away, he climbed away from the damage. Behind him though, one of the Liberators was not so lucky, slamming into a jagged piece of durasteel and exploding. The other interceptor peeled off, trying to avoid its wingman’s fate.

An eruption buckled the center of the transport in the distance, snapping the ship in half with a gout of short-lived flame. Likely a lucky shot to something vital like a weapons power conduit. Well, Raym had ordered Bantol to make the ship burn, and it looked like the man had gone above and beyond the call of duty in carrying out his orders. Even if his squadron were ordered to pull out right now, the Republic fleet would be starved for critical supplies in this sector. It wouldn’t be the victory they’d hoped for, but it slowed the Republic’s effective range to near zero.

Taking advantage of the chaos, the bomber wings launched from _Infinity_’s bays right on cue. Made up entirely of B-5 Decimus models, they moved into two diamond-shaped formations for their attack run. Raym pulled back as they passed, taking position above and behind the heavy firepower. It would keep him out of the way while providing a better view of the path ahead. As attention shifted to the main strike force, it turned them into a wonderful bait for any defenders still out there. As the Republic moved in, he swept towards the nearest fighter and raked the side of it with burning bolts that sent it diving.

“Spear Wing, move to escort pattern Eta.”

Bantol and his section would take the rear guard position for now, while the others held in an invisible box around their wards. They were almost over the cruiser, at which point the empty bombers would no longer be worthwhile targets. Thick beams cut through space from the cruiser’s remaining turbolasers that weren’t focused on the Imperial fleet. One caught a bomber on the edge of the edge of the first grouping, sending it spinning off before detonating with more force than normal – its ordinance going up with it.

Passing over the bow of the _Valor-class_, the first wave released their payload of ion bombs. Glowing as they fell, the balls sent crackling waves across the cruiser’s shields and internal systems, overloading and burning them out in electrical storms. Most of the energy field flickered and failed alongside lights and life support systems on some decks.

Seconds later the back ranks arrived to finish the job with a wall of proton torpedoes. The powerful blasts devastated the now undefended hull and transparisteel windows, tearing massive holes in the armor and penetrating deep into the massive ship. Rippling thuds destroyed the bridge, engines, and living quarters, leaving the ship a burning ruin.

Trying to turn the tide, one of the _Thranta-class_ corvettes broke away from its assigned position and sped up in a direct run on the Imperial _Terminus-class_ frigates. It was a foolish move, facing three-to-one odds from the symmetrical triangle formation of triangular ships. Their commanders made no move to avoid the incoming attack, shifting all of their fire against the corvette’s bow shields. Within seconds, it glowed blue under the barrage of heavy fire. A bright flash signified the overloaded shield failing, followed by the sickening crunch of the hammerhead bow being decimated from three angles. Beheaded and looking more like a tube with bulky engines, the ship’s thrusters sputtered and died. What momentum it had, however, continued to carry it past the Imperial fleet and left it drifting indefinitely off into empty space.

The last two Republic corvettes were already heading for the edge of the battle, realizing that escape was preferable to a total loss. Their sublight engines burned brightly as they tried to put as much space between themselves and their pursuers. One of the ships had sustained serious damage, trailing a stream of what looked like smoke, small pieces of armor plating, and fragments of damaged systems. It wouldn’t stop their escape, but it made them almost completely combat ineffective.

As soon as they were clear enough of the planet’s orbit and the Imperial capital ships, both ships visually seemed to slow before stretching and blinking out of existence. They were gone, headed back toward the safety of other fleet positions. Although Raym would have preferred to wipe out all of the ships, routing the few remaining survivors was just as decisive a victory. In a matter of minutes, the Republic had lost most of their local fleet and ceded a key system.

Turning his fighter back toward the center of the battle, he watched his pilots mopping up the few Republic interceptors left behind. Without support or escape, it would be over quickly. Secondary explosions still wracked the remains of the cruiser’s warped hull, the post-mortem spasms of a dead creature. He spotted the occasional escape pods navigating through the floating debris, but paid them no mind. Destroying them would be unnecessarily cruel, and taking prisoners was a drain on the ship’s resources to hold and feed them. No, any decision would be up to the Commodore.

“Spear Leader to Spear Wing, form up on me for return to base.”

In the meantime, all the objectives had been more than accomplished, and the 301st’s role in this was over. There would be plenty more opportunities to bleed the enemy, and there was a bottle of Merenzane Gold waiting back on board the _Infinity_ to celebrate.


	7. Oasis of Shadows

### 7︱Oasis of Shadows

#### Saleucami

#### Outer Rim

According to the official entry in _Nocturne_’s database, the name Saleucami meant ‘oasis’ in the Pantoran language; a word which was fitting for the only habitable planet within a system filled with dead, uninhabitable worlds and countless meteors. It was a wonder that even a dim, arid world like Saleucami would have life. Waves of meteors would frequently cross paths with the planet's orbit and bombard its surface - creating huge craters and calderas. Over hundreds of years, geothermal vents and subterranean springs broke through the rock within these craters, creating circular seas and turning some calderas into life-filled pockets on the planet's surface. Ranging from barren desert to contained wetlands, the terrain on Saleucami had become as diverse as its colonists. These colonists lived in tiny townships within the mineral-rich, fertile craters of the world. 

“I’d like to state for the record that I don’t think you should be alone for this one,” Inpost’s voice came over the comm, “especially if the Empire has troops hidden in the city.”

“That’s precisely why I suggested it.” Loke responded with a smirk. Her Flashfire descended gently through a thin layer of clouds to reveal the planet’s capital city glowing in the distance. A few large calderas filled with shadowed wetlands moved past outside her field of view, still smaller than the one ahead. One reason the diversity among the ecosystems created in these craters was marveled at by the local Saleucamians and visitors alike.

“Because I disagree?”

She shook her head, even though he couldn’t see her. “No, because if the Imps do have forces here, we need to be smart. If I can find where they’re located, at least we’ll have the element of surprise. I need you to hold position in the atmosphere for now, and make sure no one escapes if things don’t go as planned. Disabling them would be preferable for tracking the shipments, but do what you need to.”

His volume grew quieter as he moved away from the receiver to hand out orders. “Budrom, keep it steady and bring us to a stop here. I don’t want everyone spotting us in the sky and ruining the Commander’s recon. And R’yr, keep the turbolasers powered up. Knowing how things normally go with her, we won’t get much warning before the shooting starts.”

“Hey!” Loke protested. “That doesn’t happen every time. And you can’t blame me for what happened on Rhen Var.”

“Trust me, I’m never letting you live it down.”

“What about me, Warlock Leader?” Ibri’s voice cut through the playful bickering.

It brought a special warmth to Loke’s heart to hear that someone was at least using the new callsigns. “Stay put for now, Warlock Two, but be ready to launch in a pinch. I need you to help defend the ship or provide backup for Warlock Heavy during their landing. Try to let Spree’s crew win a few hands of Sabacc while you wait.”

A chuckle. “Roger that, sir.”

“Warlock…” Inpost muttered to himself. 

“Don’t be jealous. I’m going radio silent until I confirm our target. Make sure the strike team is ready to go, and you’ll hear from me soon.” With that, she clicked off the comm frequency. It would make it easier to focus on landing without the sarcastic voice in her ear, and her personal comm unit would more than suffice once she switched to moving about on foot. 

Taleucema was the largest and most well-developed city on Saleucami, and served as the planet’s capital. Built within a massive, fertile crater nearly sixteen kilometers across, the city’s name translated as ‘verdant’ or ‘rich’ due to the unique abundance of plant and animal life in the area. Loke could see the outskirts of the city were dominated by fields of bubse trees, which only confirmed that she was on the right track. According to Republic records, the city featured the only mass production facility for refining bubse tree extracts and medicines into finished goods.

Many of the buildings in the circular city were low-set, with pointed towers and cylindrical structures with rounded roofs. The spaceport, which dominated the northeastern sector of the city, was constantly busy with traffic from the local population as well as cargo and trading vessels from offworld. A single fighter stood out from the typical landing requests, but it was no real threat to the city on its own and took up less space than most pilots looking for a clear place to land. The areas around the docking bays were brightly illuminated with green rings in order to counter Saleucami's dim natural lighting and avoid any accidents they could. 

Loke barely slowed as she banked the craft toward her designated opening and yanked back to bring herself to a hover above the docking bay’s floor. She smirked as the patches of settled dust beneath her blew out in swirling paths around her fuselage. Would her flying make her old master chastise her for being reckless and dangerous? Without a doubt, but her years of experience and aptitude with the Force definitely helped keep her landings precise every time.

Settling into place, she ran her hands over the boards in priority order: Deactivate engines, pop the seal on the canopy, and unlocking the cargo compartment that held her less conspicuous street clothes. Not that she didn’t have her own special flair to her fashion, but her red flight suit and Republic emblems would more than announce her presence here.

_Here’s hoping they have a halfway clean refresher to change in_, she thought, casting a look at the empty bay.

<< >>  


#### Command Bridge

####  _Nocturne_

“Holding position, sir.” Budrom reported. Taking his hands off the controls, he still rested them on the console in case there were new orders.

“No enemies marks on scanners.” R’yr added from across the space. Her facial tentacles twitched subconsciously as her dark eyes flicked to meet the commander’s. “Only a handful of civilian freighters, and none of them are headed our way.”

Inpost gave them an affirmative nod before wandering over to the transparisteel to stare out on the terrain. Sighing louder than he likely meant to, he leaned forward to stretch his arms on the ledge. At this point, all any of them could really do was wait. Wait for confirmation, wait for the strike team, wait for some Imperial attack that might not come. And all of it hinged on Master Sanna being correct about an Imperial presence on Saleucami.

Not that Jorys really disagreed with the Jedi’s assessment. Up to this point, she’d shown herself to be an astute leader with an expansive knowledge of the Galaxy. It was hard not to follow and respect a powerful presence that lead her troops from the front lines. But even without that rapport, Master Sanna was in command, and Jorys was not the sort of officer to question her orders unless there was undeniable evidence to contradict them.

She double-checked all of her console’s screens more out of habit than concerns about anything. There was nothing worrisome showing on her communications terminal, and if all went well, it would remain silent until they found something of note. Even the main Republic military channel was mostly silent, save for the occasional warble of fleet check-ins. Adjusting her headset, her motions were more to look busier than she was for now.

Although she knew Colonel Bostic’s team had already been preparing for their deployment for hours, she sent the standby code down to the ready room. Whether they acted on it or not didn’t make much difference as of now, as long as they were ready to launch their shuttle when the time came. From what she’d seen of the soldiers downstairs though, they would be fierce enough to just have Budrom fly low while they jumped off the edge of the hangar bays onto the rooftops. Jorys might even pay to see that. 

“This planet seems to have its own special kind of beauty.” Jorys commented to no one in particular. If they were going to just sit here and wait for orders, she figured she might as well get to know her fellow crew members. “Did the Empire attack this world during the last war?”

Inpost pushed off of his position and walked over toward her. “More recent than that, actually.” He motioned up through the ceiling toward the heavens. “There was a battle in orbit a few years back, even before the official return to open war. Back then, it was all written off as a ‘skirmish’ and some sort of misunderstanding.”

“What happened?” R’yr asked with more curiosity than Jorys had heard from her up to this point.

“We had a squadron stationed here to help protect the shipping lanes and as a general defense for the local population. They were meant to keep a low-key presence here, as the world was technically independent. Skilled pilots, every one, although they had to be in order to operate without support. Their leader was Captain Othren - but most people knew him better as Sunspot - and he flew one of those Thunderbolt heavy assault craft like it was one of our Flashfires. Anyway, an Imperial infiltration squadron jumped into system and Sunspot’s pilots intercepted them before they could sneak past. From the after-action report, it turned into one hell of a melee. Sunspot was able to call a few ships as reinforcements, but the dreaded Emperor’s Fury squadron showed up as well. When all of it was over, Sunspot and most of his pilots had been wiped out. Our forces limped away and left the Imps with a pyrrhic victory. Since then, we’re probably the most military presence this place has seen.”

“Stars.” Jorys said under her breath. _Who would have thought this place hosted such heavy fighting_? It was inspiring to hear that only a handful of pilots had held the line against overwhelming odds. Even in their defeat, they had stopped the Empire’s conquest of yet another world.

R’yr looked more furious than when the tale began. “If there was full-on fighting between a bunch of Imp pilots and our fleet, how was that just brushed under the rug? How could they just ignore the loss of all those pilots?”

Inpost made a face she was learning was a mix of frustration and jaded resignation. “Because Republic command and the Senate were trying to avoid war at all costs. There was a reluctance to call anything an act of war, and it seems the Imperial leadership was willing to take the losses quietly if it meant it weakened our forces.” He faced R’yr as he gestured off into the distance. “For all the talk of peace and treaties and boundaries, the fighting never truly stopped. Balmorra is a perfect example. Even after we withdrew support, it was an open secret that the Republic supported the Resistance fighters on the surface. It wasn’t until they finally took back the Arms Factory that anyone was willing to acknowledge it.” 

“I was there.” Budrom said quietly, his eyes cast away. The simple statement drew everyone’s attention over to the helmsman. “I had just finished basic training when the call went out for volunteers. Anyone who was willing to go to Balmorra and help Grand Marshal Cheketta’s forces in stopping oppression. Even when they made it clear that it would be dangerous, I had romantic ideas of saving people. They let me take control of a transport and we slipped through the blockade to reinforce our troops.” A hitch in his voice made him pause for a moment, the memory harder to talk about. “I was there when the Imperials overran the factory that final time. When they slaughtered most of the Resistance forces. In a panic, I got as many soldiers and partisans on board as I could and made a run for it. There were so many Imperial ships. Their turbolasers crushed our shields and tore hull breaches on a couple decks, but somehow we were able to jump away in time.”

“I’m glad you made it out.” Jorys tried to comfort him. 

“The worst part was getting back to the fleet. Apparently the Senate completely disavowed our actions as ‘rogue elements.’ There were those in the fleet that saw me as a coward for fleeing, judging me when they weren't even there for the fight, but I was saving lives. Maybe it was purely because of what they think they know about my people. Punishing my crew and the troopers on board seemed unfair, so command tried to keep it quiet. Shuffling the survivors around to different ships and less desirable postings until it all blew over.” Budrom tapped the controls next to him with affection. “My punishment worked out though, because it landed me here. This ship, this crew, it’s my second chance.”

“We’re glad to have you on board.” Inpost said, putting his hand on the Neimoidian’s shoulder. “And we’ll make the Imps pay for all the pain they’ve inflicted on this Galaxy.”

<< >>  


#### Taleucema

#### Saleucami

It was clear the spaceport was the lifeblood of the city on Loke’s walk from the docking bay and through the main terminal. It was cleaner than she expected, if she was being honest with herself. Merchants, pilots, and passengers headed in all directions, watched over by a security force of both droids and organic guards. 

The crowds were made up predominantly of non-human species, including blue-skinned Pantorans, wrinkled and leathery Weequay, three-eyed Gran, and ever ubiquitous Twi'leks. She wondered momentarily if the planet even had any sentient indigenous species to speak of. As a human on a world filled with aliens, she decided she’d have to work it into her strategy. A double-edged sword of sorts - she would stand out more than most worlds she’d been assigned to, but it meant her almost certainly human target would be just as exposed.

Traders’ Belt was the name of the busy and colorful neighborhood that bordered the spaceport. Comprised of cantinas, gambling dens, high-end retail, and semi-legal massage parlors, it was one of the city’s largest entertainment centers. The proprietors mainly catered to the maintenance and supply crews servicing the ships flying in and out. Roads crisscrossing between the numerous buildings and high-rise towers were crowded with pedestrians and landspeeders going about their midday business. Busy streets were good news for blending in with the river of beings. With practiced skill, she moved her scarf up to make a hood around her face. A hooded figure might draw attention for being up to something, but it would help disguise her species while she moved.

“Fresh meats! We have an exotic selection, fresh from the Core Worlds!” A Weequay in an apron called out to whip up business. 

The Gran on the next corner seemed to be looking for newcomers leaving the spaceport. “Hey you! Yes, you! Interested in seeing some of the most beautiful creatures ever to grace a stage?”

Moving down the block, Loke noted some sort of drilling platform that seemed to double as a power station on one corner. Some sort of geothermal rig, if she wasn’t mistaken - harnessing the natural power of the subterranean magma streams and thermal vents to power the city and provide warmth during the freezing desert nights. _Might as well work with the advantages your planet had naturally to find solutions_.

Speaking of natural solutions, she thought to herself, better to avoid the refinery for now. It may have been the most obvious place to start, but no Imperial operation would be so brazen and expect to last very long at all. No, much like an organized crime operation, it would be easier to purchase the extract legitimately with a front company. From there, they could store it in a warehouse or holding center within the city until a freighter could move it off-world. That was how they’d discovered the shipments to begin with, after all.

Drawing a few curious glances from the river of mostly blue faces, she headed into a nearby store to browse the selection and watch the streets. Her eyes pretended to scan the stock while she kept an eye out for anyone that might fit her idea of what she was looking for. Hard to know what she was truly looking for with the rumble in her stomach from her new droid’s terrible cooking. 

An idea for a useful side quest blossomed in her mind, and she exited again, heading for a droid repair shop she’d picked out in the distance. 

Covered in generally organized crates of parts, the store had gutted humanoid husks hanging on the walls and deactivated astromech-style droids along the floor. Oil and the distinct metallic tang hung in the air as she made her way toward the service counter. An older Pantoran was bent over a bench just to the side, peering closely at a soon-to-be-repaired mechanism. 

“Excuse me.” Loke said, hoping to get to the point. “Would you happen to have a programmable CS-77 culinary processor?”

“Oh!” He started, putting a hand on his chest. “Sorry, I didn’t see you there. I- I don’t think we have the seventy-seven model, but I might have a seventy-five from a scrap trade that came in. Would that be sufficient?”

“What changes did they make with the upgrade?”

“Well, the seventy-five can only handle five hundred thousand recipes, where the seventy-seven increased the total to seven hundred and fifty.”

Loke laughed. “The seventy-five will be fine. If you don’t mind-” Casting a glance out the window, she spotted a muscular human striding up the street. He tried to hide himself with civilian clothes, but his walk was almost a march. The odds of running into a potential target so quickly were long, but perhaps the Force was on her side. “Actually, if you can keep it behind the counter, I have to run a quick errand.”

“Of course. We’re open for a few more hours, so no need to rush.”

“Thank you.” She gave him an appreciative nod as she backed out the door slowly. Her target had gained more distance than she would have preferred, but at least he was still in sight. 

After ten long minutes, Loke had to respect her quarry. He definitely had training in counter-surveillance. Moving quickly enough to make anyone behind him stand out, taking a constantly changing route to lose tails, and randomly stopping to check out a storefront or use something reflective to look behind him. It would be near impossible for anyone without similar training to keep up and not be spotted.

Or being trained on top of extensive training with the Force.

The Jedi Master had taken a break between buildings to leap high up a nearby wall onto the emergency ladder. Now she mostly crept along the rooftops, keeping the Imperial in sight from a different point of view. He crossed another road, timing it to avoid a cluster of landspeeders floating past. There was no evidence she’d had her cover blown, and it was clear he was in a hurry to get back, standing out even with his floppy hat and drab clothing.

For a long moment, Loke felt an unease growing deep in her gut. If she was wrong, this guy was just a pilot with a bit of paranoia trying to find a massage parlor he’d heard about during his last stop over. But if that were true, the only thing she had to lose was time - and maybe a handful of credits if she decided to get a massage herself. 

At long last though, the man headed to quieter side street that was mostly supply warehouses. Once he reached the large cargo door, he tapped code into the panel built into it to open a smaller pedestrian entrance. A smile formed at the edge of her lips. If this was the place, the street looked wide enough for a shuttle and less likely to cause collateral damage if things went sideways. There was no clear surveillance, but she doubted any Imperial facility would skip holorecorders to at least cover the entrances. 

Taking up position on the rooftop’s edge, she looked down on the building across the street. Gauging the distance, she was pretty sure she could leap it if she got a running start. Reaching to her wrist, she activated her commlink. 

”Nocturne, dispatch Warlock Heavy to these coordinates and make sure they move in on the front door.” 

“This is Warlock Heavy.” The Colonel’s voice came back through her earpiece. A roar of engines came in the background of the engines as the side hatch closed. “Just confirming, but that strike point is pretty direct when we don’t know what’s on the other side of the door. Seems like that won’t give us the element of surprise.” 

“I understand your concern, but it’ll give us exactly the surprise we need. Just breach on my signal.” 

His concern hadn’t faded, but his tone was professional. “Yes sir. What should I tell the team the signal is?” 

Loke slipped her lightsabers out of her bag and clipped them to her belt. “Trust me, they’ll know.”


	8. Taste of Victory

### 8︱Taste of Victory

#### Taleucema

Footfalls echoed outside the main doors of the warehouse with the muted metal-on-metal of armor providing the only warning the occupants would be given. The sound drew the attention of the Imperial soldiers and technicians gathered around consoles and lounging on old, stained furniture. Heads whipped back and forth as the group confirmed that it wasn’t just their imagination and to check the perimeter surveillance for any potential threats. When it suddenly fell silent a moment later, those assembled cast glances at one another and reached for weapons leaning on metal racks or laying across the tables. A few of the support staff slipped toward the back half of the warehouse, which was taken up by rows of towering racks with sealed barrels filling the shelves. All signs pointed to this being exactly the building they were looking for.

Taking up positions behind large crates and flipped over tables, the Imperials moved into a staggered formation wherever they could find a line of sight. Most were fully kitted out in duraplast battle armor, though a few still wore their civilian disguises. A dozen rifle muzzles and a handful of pistols were trained on the main entrance as they prepared to cut down anyone that came through the doors.

Loke watched them hurry about like a researcher studying an insect colony. Although they were running a covert operation, they stuck to the standard operating procedures that never seemed to change regardless of time period or unit. This is where the method to her seeming madness came into play. Enlisted infantry providing the main line of defense to protect their superiors and the valuable materials that were essential to their mission’s success. One of the undercover civilians headed straight for the main communications terminal on muscle memory, directing troopers as he walked. He didn’t need to be wearing his rank plaque for her to plainly see that he was the one in charge.

If she was going to stop him from torching all the potential intelligence or alerting his fleet reinforcements, it was now or never.

Glass exploded as the skylight shattered, a thousand crystalline shards raining down with the shadowed Jedi just behind it. The noise and debris shifted almost everyone’s attention upwards. Landing near a group of surprised soldiers, she channeled her energy into a Force repulse right as her hand connected with the ground, the wave throwing her enemies backward into walls and over crates. 

Drawing her hilts in one smooth motion, her orange and emerald blades blazed to life. If anyone wasn’t looking her way after her dramatic entrance, they sure were now. Those that recovered quickly began firing her way, red bolts ricocheted into the walls and floor. Loke used a few opportune motions to reflect shots back to their source, sparking as they struck armor or burned through fabric and flesh. 

The commanding officer was shaking off the initial kinetic blast and reached out to the console to stand. If he had any hesitation about torching evidence of their presence here, it was likely long gone. Loke switched to a more defensive posture, batting away any incoming fire that came close while she closed the distance to the man. He looked up just as she reached his position, a sudden cold fear in his eyes about being struck down.

Powering her offhand saber down, the Jedi grabbed his shoulder with one hand while kneeing him hard in the side. An unnatural noise of the air rushing out of his lungs confirmed he would stay put until this was over. The Imperial gasped for ragged breath as he slumped to the ground in a fog of starbursts and semi-consciousness. 

A concussive boom blew out the wall next to the main door, sending a cloud of flame-tinged smoke in all directions. Behind it was a line of Republic troopers, staying low as they fanned out and picked out targets from the stunned defenders. Outflanked from two sides, those remaining seemed unsure which threat to engage. One of the braver souls reached for a grenade on his belt, only to be killed before he could activate it. Instead, the orb fell free and awkwardly rolled across the smooth floor.

Loke had taken advantage of the confusion as well, circling around the last couple Imperials that were firing on her allies. By the time they spotted her, it was already too late, and they went rigid with glowing blades impaled through their armored chests before collapsing. 

“Looks like you started the party without us.” Bostic’s vocoder-tinged voice called out. He stepped over one of the bodies as he scanned the battlefield for any further threats.

“It seems you got my signal.” She remarked with a hint of pride before pointing toward the bank of consoles. “Have your men secure the officer for questioning and transfer to Fleet custody. And it looks like he was trying to scrub the files before I entered. If you can pull the databanks, we can transfer them to SIS for analysis.”

He gave her a sharp nod and motioned toward the stunned prisoner. “Consider it done.”

“Nocturne.” Loke said into her commlink. “Mission accomplished.”

“Glad to hear it. Any casualties?” Inpost asked. There was a hunger to his voice, and Loke couldn’t blame him. It was hard having to hold position and do nothing rather than rush in when there was a fight going on. 

“None.” Bostic reported. “The Commander took care of most of them before we got inside.”

She let out a sly chuckle as she glanced up at his position. “I wasn’t about to let your men walk into a trap, Colonel. Figured if anyone should be drawing their aggression, it should be the person that knows exactly what danger they’re walking into.” She kept her comments on the ship’s main channel for both Bostic and the command crew’s benefit. Her people should know she refused to risk their lives unless there was no other option.

“Did you find what we’re looking for?” The voice came through her earpiece.

Loke looked around at the stacked shelves. She could read the labels on the closer barrels well enough. A couple of them had been struck by stray fire during the fight. The edges of the holes were scorched and crystallized, while sticky liquid dripped in long strands off the shelving, pooling on the floor. “We definitely found Imperials and a storehouse full of refined extract. Whether we can get anything out of the Imp or the console is another story.”

“My medic is looking him over now, and then we’ll get him on the transport.” Bostic had moved to the console but made no move to touch it. Many Imperial systems had failsafes installed that would sense a out a pulse to fry all the internal components - if they would only get one chance to retrieve the information within, he wasn’t about to waste it. “We’ll complete our standard sweep for any usable data and materials, make sure there isn’t anyone hiding in the stacks, and then withdraw.”

“We’ll have a team ready on the flight deck to receive both packages when you land.”

“Not to fight and run,” Loke motioned around the debris-strewn room, “but I have an errand back in Traders’ Row I never quite finished. Are you and your team fine with mopping up? Or do you still need assistance?”

“We’ve got this one. Good luck, Commander.” He nodded his helmeted head at her as she headed for the door.

She only hoped she hadn’t lost too much track of time with the dimming light, and that no one had touched her fighter.

<< >>  


#### Command Bridge

####  _Nocturne_

A few hours later Jorys was finishing her somewhat tedious pre-flight communications diagnostic as the ship headed back upward through the clouds and back into orbit. She had been at the console enough today that there shouldn’t be any change to her displays or its function that could have slipped by her at this point… but regulations were regulations. There were enough horror stories they taught back at the academy about crews ignoring small issues that created cascading systems failures to keep most officers with a healthy amount of fear. She almost laughed at the absurd thought of her comm terminal overloading the engines before the ship plunged back to the arid ground below.

There was no word on the prisoner that had supposedly been taken into custody back on the surface. Whether they left him behind, took him on board, or handed him over to the authorities was outside her usual purview. One of the troopers had brought Commander Inpost the data recorder as soon as they set foot back on the ship, smelling of burnt ozone and a sweetness she couldn’t identify. Jorys used an encoded channel to transmit everything they uncovered directly back to the SIS headquarters on Coruscant. They had scores of analysts and slicers that would uncover whatever secrets the Empire was hiding on Saleucami.

Master Sanna had returned her fighter to its designated spot not long after Colonel Bostic’s strike team, hopping out and disappearing into the rear of the ship. Well, ‘_disappeared_’ might have been more Inpost’s phrasing when she never returned to the bridge to check in. She was likely running around somewhere on the lower decks, grabbing the mess’s less-than-palatable food or exercising. If it were her, Jorys would be back in her bunk after fighting off a bunch of Imperials taking a nap or reading quietly.

The thought made her own stomach growl in anticipation of her next meal. Knowing what gelatinous protein blobs were waiting in the mess though, she half considered foraging for snacks in her gear locker. There might still be a half container of tonitran jerky of unknown age under her spare belt. Probably about as tough to chew as well. Regardless, perhaps it was time to take a break, especially when they were minutes from another jump back to the safety of Hyperspace. Using the bridge’s redundant systems, she transferred communications control to the simpler display on Inpost’s command console. Giving everyone a nod, she headed for the door.

Pausing outside, she considered a quick detour. Spending so much time on the bridge meant she hadn’t actually taken the time to explore anywhere else but her quarters, the training room, the mess, and her station on the bridge. Turning to the nearby service door, she pressed the button next to the glowing red light. The door slid open in a smooth motion, leading out onto a catwalk above the starboard hangar bays. Unlike most pathways and corridors across the Galaxy, Jorys was pleased to see this one at least had some sort of safety rail.

Below her position the mechanics and tech crews milled about, carrying out their typical duties. She watched each of them in turn as they coiled up the bulky fuel hoses, offloaded crates from the shuttle’s side door, and rolled munition carts stocked with missiles back to their storage lockers. Now that the pressure and tension of the operation was subsiding, everyone moved a bit slower. Also rolling across the floor was that cheery astromech droid she’d only really seen in passing. It let out a low whistle as it headed to assist a woman using percussive maintenance on a malfunctioning terminal. Perhaps it was strange to ascribe organic emotions on a programmed droid, but she already liked the squat black-and-orange crew member.

Loke Sanna was not, in fact, in her quarters like expected. Sitting on the blue wing of her Flashfire, she reclined against the main fuselage. Her flight suit’s light orange legs made a stark enough contrast to the metal around it. The top half of the uniform had been undone, the fabric flopped downward and currently resting under her thighs. Underneath was the off-white standard issue sleeveless shirt that had somehow avoided being stained by the dirt and oil of whatever she was working on. Tinkering with something mechanical and a small tool from one of her thigh pouches. Whatever she held was too far away to make out from the upper level. Next to her was a small pile of discarded pilot accessories, including her helmet, vest, and gloves. Jorys assumed it was easier to keep most of her gear near the fighter for when she decided to actually wear the ensemble.

Almost like she could hear Jorys’s thoughts, Master Sanna looked up at her position and gave her a small nod. She then spotted the Lieutenant assigned as the Flight Deck Chief, and seemed fixated on catching his eye.

"Hey Spree! Can you toss this out the airlock?" Her voice sounded quiet with the distance and among the general noise of the hangar.

An object made an impressive arc on its way to the Chief, who quickly set down a datapad to catch it. Glancing at the metal lump in his hand, he looked back up at the Jedi’s makeshift seat. "Do I even want to ask?"

She cocked an eyebrow coyly. "It's far from the weirdest thing I've asked you to do."

“Fine, fine.” Grabbing the datapad again, he put his now occupied hands up in mock surrender before walking off. Making his way toward the magnetic field between himself and the space sliding by outside, he pulled back and heaved the chunk of metal. It slid through the atmospheric shield and disappeared into the slipstream. “Even easier than finding the main hatch. Better now?”

“Thank you.”

Jorys shook her head and wandered further down the walkway, finding a ladder that would take her to the lower deck – and eventually to her destination. What would a little exploration hurt on the way? It may have seemed silly, but it was these little side adventures that she lived for, finding new and less-traveled paths. Taking the rungs one at a time, she leapt off most of the way down and landed on her feet.

Just ahead were two of the Infantry Detachment troopers hanging inside the armory. The doors were open, and they seemed relaxed as they stripped and cleaned their weapons. As they told everyone in basic training, a clean weapon was the difference between life or death. A rusty power pack release or too much carbon scoring could lead to malfunctions or worse. It only made sense to step inside and get a glimpse of this room as well.

“Hey” Jorys greeted them both while admiring their heavy armor. “I just wanted to congratulate your team on the raid back there. It sounded intense, and I can’t imagine having to charge into somewhere unknown like that.”

“Thank you. Ensign. We’re honored by your words.” The Bith Sergeant on the right said. She had the typical large, pink head and lidless black eyes typical of her species. Further separating her appearance from her human counterparts was a lack of a nose, instead having a mouth hidden behind vertical cheek flaps. Leaning toward the pieces scattered on the table, she went back to work reassembling them into her deadly companion.

Absorbing the fact that their conversation had run its course, the awkward silence that followed seemed the best time to leave. Giving the weapon racks and scattered equipment one last lingering glance, she slipped away from the doorframe and toward an experience she had to admit she was still mildly dreading.

The mess was packed with people, most lined up and animatedly chatting with friends. Whatever had changed here must have been for the better to convince this many crew members to come willing and even seem excited about it. It was hard to get a clear view of anyone’s plate from the end of the line, but it wasn’t like there were many other options. Crates looked to be stacked back behind the counter, the markings definitely weren’t the standard Republic logo.

Today’s dish was the absolute furthest thing from what she’d consumed the other day. Baked flatbread giving off the most delicious aroma as it sat in piles. Next to it was dishes of different meats and containers of toppings - grilled vegetables, uxibeast cheese, and Kodari rice. Jorys tried to take it all in, as the selection looked better than even the mess halls on the best cruisers in the Fleet.

2P-Y0 wore a fabric apron over his chassis and stared at her with his emotionless face. “Good evening. Would you prefer bantha steak, seared dewback, or scalefish? There is also a meat-free option.”

“Uh…” Her eyes played a game of choice over the options. “Bantha, I guess?”

“Excellent.” The droid said simply. “Enjoy your meal.”

A cheer went up from the tables behind her, causing Jorys to follow their sounds toward the object of their attention. Master Sanna had entered, and seemed to be succumbing to the grin that grew larger with the positive energy. Motioning for some semblance of decorum, or at least the ability to be heard, she addressed the group.

“Settle down, settle down. It seems my little upgrade to our mess droid didn’t go unnoticed.” A chorus of laughs and applause came in response. “Much like you, I couldn’t go another day eating whatever the stuff was that the Imperials called food. And our chef doesn’t seem to mind, do you Toopyo?”

“What? Oh, I haven’t any sustained any systems damage, Master.”

“I said when I took command of this ship that I would work to improve things. That I would fight for each of you and listen to your concerns. This is just the first step. In return, all I ask is that you do the same for your fellow crew members. Take care of those around you and we’ll keep pushing the Empire back from system after system.” She lowered a voice slightly in an aside. “ And honestly, we only have a few crates of fresh meat and produce, so try to stick to portion sizes until we can stock up at a larger port.”

Even Jorys joined in for this round of rousing approval. 

“Eat up and get some rest.” She announced with building confidence. Another smile crept across her face to see edible morale taking effect on everyone gathered at their tables or watching from the walls. “Soon we’ll be bringing the fight to the enemy.”


	9. Hit and Run

### 9︱Hit and Run

#### Riflorii System

Traveling at a leisurely pace above Riflor, the _Terminus-class_ frigate took its time to complete the designated patrol route. Shaped like an arrowhead with swept-back ventral fins in the rear, the warships were the backbone of the Imperial Fleet’s operations. Its hangar bays held a couple squadrons worth of interceptors and its berthing was filled with troops for rapid deployment anywhere they might be needed on the planet below. Whether defending the planet from incoming Republic forces or providing heavy turbolaser support to strikes on the surface, it was well-equipped to do both.

Trailing the powerful frigate was a single _Gage-class_ transport. Although designed to look near identical to its lead ship, it was noticeably smaller and lesser armed. Its role was purely support, carrying the essential supplies to support the frigate’s battle prowess while feeding and sustaining the crew and soldiers within.

Dropping out of hyperspace, a third warship snapped into view without warning or fanfare. A typical Imperial heavy assault model approaching unhurriedly to join the patrol formation. It wouldn’t raise any alarms as an enemy, but the Empire was nothing if not regimented.

“Unidentified ship,” A sharp voice came over the radio, “this is the _Ascertainer_. We have received no notification of reinforcements in this sector. Submit your clearance codes immediately for approval.”

Zak Jorys took a moment to focus before affecting her best Imperial accent. “_Ascertainer_, this is the _Nocturne_. Transmitting codes now.” Luckily Master Sanna’s successful boarding action had included taking the ship’s databases intact. It was a rare feat, and meant that they still had current Imperial codes to appear legitimate. And knowing how most bored officers on patrol could be, they would hopefully focus on the codes more than the voice behind it.

“Stand by, _Nocturne_.”

Inpost turned to her and gave an approving nod. If nothing else, the time it took to confirm their status as friend or foe only helped the Republic crew to close the distance on their intended target. A bad code only meant they would need to open fire sooner. Budrom was rigid but focused at his post - trying his best to keep on a war footing and hyped up for battle while also flying casually like this was a routine rendezvous.

R’yr, however, was a completely different story. The woman looked like a child getting to open her Life Day gift early. Although their weapons were still powered down, she was already preparing everything she’d need. As soon as they’d dropped out of Hyperspace, she started calculating and programming in the targeting algorithms for distance and maximum damage.

“We’ll get one good shot at this. Make it count.” Inpost instructed them quietly. “After that, you all know your roles.”

“Clearance approved, _Nocturne_.” The Imperial communications officer transmitted, his voice echoing through the bridge. “Will you be docking on the surface?”

“Negative. Requesting permission to dock for a partial ration resupply before heading home.” She felt her accent slipping more than she liked, but she only needed a few more seconds.

“Roger that.”

_Nocturne_ had adjusted course for their approach, moving in a curving path to come in from behind the two larger ships. It was typically the ideal place to target during a battle, avoiding a defender’s main gun batteries while exposing their engines and the rear of the command superstructure to attack. A blind spot. Common enough for pulling alongside allied ships to align docking ports, and hopefully what they believed was occurring.

“Fire as soon as you have the shot, Sergeant.”

R’yr let her suction-cup tipped fingers dance over the console with practiced precision. A new thrum seemed to flow through the ship as the weapons systems came online, a pulsing strength just waiting to be unleashed, even though Jorys knew the perception was only enhanced by her imagination. Speed was of the essence, and the comm officer activated a focused jamming signal against the warships.

The first burst struck both shield generators with the heaviest turbolaser fire, causing them to erupt and crackle. It was the absolute first priority - without a functioning shield, the ship would be mostly defenseless. Debris spiraled off in all directions, unburdened by gravity or friction. A second salvo burst forth from the ventral cannons, aiming for the ship’s lower main engines with blooms of plasma. It would cripple their ability to maneuver and escape to hyperspace, while a crescent of four supplemental housings helped enhance their sublight speed.

Budrom pulled them lower to further use agility to their advantage and allow his crewmate a clearer shot. Raking across the stern with all of the weapons this time, half of the circular blue-white exhausts flickered and went dark.

Jorys leaned into her microphone as she contacted the waiting fighters below her position. “Shields down, Warlock team! Launch!” 

Outside the front viewport, the two scout fighters streaked past, headed in opposite directions around their main target. The Jedi rolled once in a flourish that made her look like an excited anooba. “We’re away! Two, see if you can clear out some of the guns while I head for the transport. _Nocturne_, don’t let that destroyer escape.”

R’yr nodded at the disembodied voice. “It’ll be my pleasure, Warlock Leader.” 

Pounding fire walked its way down the larger ship’s port side while wreaking destructive havoc. Powerful bolts warped and boiled through the heavy armor plating, sending gouts of depressurized atmosphere and flame up in its wake. One battery caught a clear line of sight on the incoming _Nocturne_, but had no time to counterattack before the cluster of turbolasers were blown apart.

In the distance, Master Sanna was taking on a capital ship all by herself. Less-armed and armored, but a capital ship nonetheless. Unlike their escort, the crew had rushed to raise their shields and pulled away from the battle to try and save themselves. The Republic fighter used it to her advantage, moving to the far side where they weren’t looking before starting her attack. Getting in close to the hull and flying within the barrier’s protection, she negated their greatest defense as she made a targeted strike on their bridge. 

Another risky move, but it paid off as it took away both the ship’s commanders and literal control. By the time the automatic blast seals locked into place, the damage had already been done. The ship was forced to drift on its previously set course.

Jorys noticed a flash on her boards as the transport moved behind the other ship. “Uh, Commander? I lost direct jamming on that ship! Can’t confirm, but I think they may have been able to get a signal through.”

“We’ll have to move fast then. Inpost said solemnly, turning back to the view of the dying frigate outside. Ibri’s fighter broke up and away before diving on another set of guns located on the far side. From the scattered enemy bolts streaking wide of her flight path, they were having difficulty tracking something so small. “Warlock Leader, wrap it up. Not sure how long we’ll get before reinforcements arrive.”

She sounded a bit exasperated in response. “Fine, fine. Heading back.” Her ship let loose one final burst into the bow sensor tower before breaking off her runs. It would be a shame to leave the transport damaged but mostly intact, especially when the supplies inside were so important to the war effort. Based on how it was drifting, the Imperials would end up heading into open space rather than endangering the Advozsec cities on the surface with a deadly artificial asteroid.

Meanwhile, the _Nocturne_’s hammering fire struck something critical - secondary explosions rippled through the Imperial ship’s interior structure - snapping it into two jagged halves as _Ascertainer_ succumbed to its mortal wounds. The remaining sections flickered and sparked while a few lone escape pods jetted away from the wreckage like tiny insects.

“Impressive work, everyone.” Inpost told the bridge crew.

“Couldn’t have put it better myself.” Master Sanna’s distorted voice agreed.

<< >>  


#### Command Deck

####  _Infinity_

“We need to be careful. What if someone sees? My superiors would never accept our relationship.” She kept her voice hushed but worry washed over the speed of her words. She had removed her service cap in this private moment, her blonde hair bright against her uniform's gray and black tones.

“I don’t care anymore.” He replied, his skin flushing an even deeper crimson. He swept his arm as if presenting to an invisible crowd. “I wish I could broadcast our love to the whole Galaxy. Show everyone that the Sith and the military together is what makes us unstoppable, whether just two people or all the glorious things we represent.”

A low tone filled the room to let Raym know someone was waiting at his door. Pressing a button on the small holoprojector, the lovers froze in mid-air. They held each other close in what would currently be an indefinite embrace.

"Come!" He announced, and the door slid upward to reveal Bantol's amused smile. Perhaps he should have kept the volume a touch lower if this was the reaction that came with it.

"Be Sith My Fleeting Heart?" Bantol asked while openly fighting the urge to tease his friend on his off-duty content. "You know we have other holos floating around, right? You don't always have to settle for the sappy romances."

Raym gave a noncommittal shrug. "Honestly, for as overacted as it can be at points, it's growing on me. Something about it reminds me of home. Sitting there longing for a forbidden love between updates on our war against the Republic." He chuckled. "The last one, I mean."

"We all have our reminders of home and what we're fighting for. I have my family, and I guess you have a movie."

"Don't forget my undying patriotism."

"Oh, haven't you heard? We all have that."

Raym turned a touch more serious. "What do you have for me?"

Bantol cocked his thumb toward the hall. "I was heading up to the command briefing a little early, and figured I'd see if you wanted to walk with me."

A quick check of his chronometer confirmed that it was indeed approaching their dreaded daily meeting. "Good idea. Better to get a seat while we can." 

Bundling up his film for later, he moved to set it next to a small metal model on the shelf. An old style of Sith fighter, it had been a gift from his father when he was only a child. It was also one of the few personal items he brought with him from posting to posting. A nostalgic reminder that he had always dreamed of being a pilot. Otherwise his quarters were as neat and ordered as regulations required. Doubly so for Raym, as it was drilled into him that he would need to lead by example. Messy spaces tended to lead to messy discussions with the command staff, followed shortly by harsh punishment.

His uniform jacket hung on a hook where he had left it. Stitching and the give of the fabric normally a bit too constricting to lounge in during his off hours. Brushing off the shoulders and chest was just habit to make sure no lint or dust settled. The same went for the boots he pulled on a moment later. Dusting off the black leather, he made sure the surface at least looked clean enough to pass the Commodore’s watchful eye. 

Giving Bantol an affirmative nod, he shut the door behind him and followed his friend down the hall.

Fifteen minutes later, Commodore Charz Novia entered precisely on time like he did every day. No one had a good theory on how he kept things so precise, but the meeting always started the second he sat down in that high-backed chair at the head of the table. The lights dimmed moments later to allow a better view of any holoimages or maps that may be displayed. It also had the effect of discouraging any side conversations among those assembled. Steam from a dozen hot mugs of caf gave an odd shimmery quality at intervals.

Raym staked his claim on a seat most of the way down the long table to avoid both the crossfire of questions toward those at the head and the scorn directed at those trying to hide at the far end. Bantol, as his second, sat against the wall directly behind him. If a question arose that Raym couldn’t answer or if they needed to run a message back to the squadron, Bantol was the reliable wingman he trusted to get it done.

Novia himself was the oldest of anyone in the room, his face seemingly dragged even further down by his permanent look of disapproval. Perhaps that was the weight of command taking its toll on his body after all these years. Deep set eyes and hawkish sharp nose only accentuated his intense gaze of perpetual judgement. A silver wave of hair covered his head, sharply parted on one side. His uniform was immaculate, as he demanded from everyone stationed aboard his vessel.

“Start the briefing, Captain.”

“Of course, Commodore.” An officer with a thin, auburn moustache just to his left sat up straighter. “Our readiness is still rated high, even with the routine maintenance work on Fifty-Third Squadron and the loss of a bomber three days ago. Fleet Command will provide a fresh replacement during our next stopover at Vaiken Spacedock.”

“Remind me, Captain, what was the final verdict on the loss?”

“Faulty power coupler overstressed the engines and compromised the fuel line. Once the chain reaction started, there was no recovering. After the Crew Chief discovered the problem, she’s accelerated the current maintenance schedule. Our mechanics are working double shifts until all checks are completed.”

“Excellent. Update me immediately on any further issues that our crews uncover during their work.”

The man nodded his obedience. “Next, our administration officer has asked me to remind everyone about the upcoming deadline for finishing any outstanding training requirements. Make sure your teams and squadrons are up to date. No exceptions will be made for late completion and those listed as delinquent will be subject to discipline.”

Raym kept his annoyance to himself in case another officer noticed his disdain. Most of the training courses were not particularly difficult, just time consuming. They covered topics rarely, if ever, used in the course of a pilot’s daily duties and included knowledge checks to make sure one was paying attention. Did his flyers really need to know the ruling number that mandated the form for maintenance? Not in the slightest, but he would put the necessary pressure on those still needing to get it done.

“Promotion season is coming up soon as-” He continued before being cut off.

“Skip to our strategic intelligence from command, please.” The Commodore ordered. “I have a call with the fleet commanders scheduled after this, and I don’t want to be caught blindsided regarding current operations.”

“As you command. Our strategic section is a bit more concerning than usual today. Esseven, please display the data points from report two-two-oh-four-two.” A previously silent astromech whirred to life, lights glowing like a mechanical specter, before rolling from its designated position on the back wall to assist. Its cone-shaped head rotated as it came to a stop, projecting a zoomed-in selection of sectors with flashing red markers angry against the soft blue background.

Supposedly this one’s full designation was I7-S7, but Raym thought they all looked identical. Even the standard red, black, and silver color scheme was the same. Not that it especially mattered. They were merely tools – assisting with briefings, fixing ships, diagnosing system failures, putting out fires. He knew a few officers that saw the stubby buckets as fully sentient, treating them like close friends or traveling companions. How they understood all the beeping and warbling was lost on him.

“Sith Intelligence reports there’s been a disturbing trend of our ships coming under attack in these sectors” The Captain motioned to the map. “In just the past few weeks, three frigates and five transports were reported destroyed by what would appear on the surface to be enemy action.”

Novia shook his head in disgust. Pointing at the display, he spoke to the room. “These losses are completely unacceptable. This is why operational security is of paramount importance!”

At that moment, the briefing door opened with a soft swoosh, light flooding in from the hallway. A sheepish Lieutenant tried to creep in with nearly all eyes in the room on his attempt at stealth. The young man motioned apologies as he tried to hide in the shadowed far corner.

Novia scowled at the far end. “You may continue, Captain.”

“Of course, sir. Survivors recovered from escape pods at each attack claim that it was an Imperial ship firing upon them.”

“That’s impossible.” A faceless officer disagreed in the darkness. “Are you saying we have some group of traitors trying to sabotage us?”

“Perhaps some of these were cases of mistaken identity?” Another voice suggested.

For all the supposed decorum that should reign at these briefings, the room quickly fell into hushed but active debate over any potential hypothesis. One didn’t become an officer of any importance in the Imperial Military without following orders unquestioningly while also usually thinking they were always right. Raym ignored all the inane banter about traitors, pirates, and Republic superweapons. Instead, he turned his head slightly and leaned back.

Bantol was crouched next to his chair in a moment. “You have a theory?”

“Not quite yet. Speculation and conspiracies are pointless until we have real facts. See who we can make inroads with in Sith Intelligence. I want the full write-up and any evidence they have to link the attacks. Locations, ship names, witness statements. Do it quietly though. The last thing I need is the Commodore seeing this as a breach in protocol.”

“It will be done.” He replied dutifully as he moved back to his seat.

Sitting forward again, Raym looked attentive while his mind was elsewhere. There was more to this than a series of unfortunate accidents or especially skilled pirates. Someone was coordinating targeted strikes with impressive precision and had a background in hit-and-run attacks. That sort of experience only came from insurgent groups, usually in ambushing soldiers or sabotaging more stationary facilities. Regardless, he would have his answers soon enough. And if it truly was a campaign to push them out of the region, he looked forward to confronting a worthy adversary for once.


	10. Supply Lines

### 10︱Supply Lines

#### Starboard Hangar

####  _Nocturne_

Stepping clear of the cockpit's edge, Loke left her helmet perched on top of the instrument panel. Settling into a seated position on the wing, she gently reclined against the sloped surface of the hull. Pouches and gear on her belt felt a little lumpy, but she found enough of a gap that it didn’t press too much into her spine. It had become a bit of an art these past few weeks finding a comfortable position to do her after-action rundown without interruption from Jacen. Plus, this side of the ship shielded her from view as she gazed out of the hangar into space.

Outside was what appeared at this range to be a model-sized doppelganger of _Nocturne_, the assault ship drifting perpendicular to them in the upper atmosphere of Phatrong. The same engineered lines, the same drab, unpainted metal appearance. If not for the few remaining lights glowing from inside and disabled engines, she wouldn’t have blamed herself for heading to land on the wrong ship by accident. Threads of ideas began weaving through her mind about giving the exterior an overhaul as well with a more colorful design.

A dark green outstretched hand holding a datapad came into view from below the wing. She hadn’t even heard him over the usual noises of the crews working away and her own introspection. Spindly insectoid in appearance, the Verpine species were known to have a penchant for building and repairing machinery. One of Spree’s techs making sure she had the latest mission readouts on hand for consideration. Giving a rapid click-click of acknowledgement, he headed back toward the main tool shelves. She made a mental note to get a duty list so she could properly memorize all of their names. Yet another way to help morale and crew cohesion.

But first, there was critiquing the mostly successful objective outside. Unlike most of their slowly-becoming-standard ambush tactics, the enemy bridge crew had been a shade more paranoid. They didn’t trust this strange and sudden contact, activating both weapons and shields during their approach. It was a sensible response, especially in wartime, but wonderfully inconvenient for Loke, Ibri, and everyone expecting a quick win. Although Nocturne and the fighters had tried to use ion blasts to cripple the ship, it was far from intact. Spots of serious hull damage smoldered alongside a badly torn up compartment. Emergency blast panels covered what remained of the port side viewports, slamming into place to maintain pressure and atmosphere when the transparisteel was shattered in the firefight.

From their limited communication before the attack their target was designated as _Lifeblood_. Loke let out a small snort at the branding as her eyes moved over the screen. An apt description for its role in this system and somehow less sinister than most Imperial ship names. Much like her own ship’s original purpose, it was filled with supplies befitting an invasion. Crates of weapons, survival gear, prefabricated and quick-build shelters, and of course, racks of speeder bikes. The ability to strike and overwhelm with brutal speed. A capability that would soon be passed to a more worthy cause. 

Small shuttles sparkled as the light reflected off an incoming group ascending towards the crippled ship. Planetary resistance forces she’d contacted before the attack to offer them a chance to fight back and push the occupation offworld. All she’d asked in return was that they come to claim the goods themselves. Bostic’s team was good, but she wouldn’t risk casualties when there was a simpler option. It would be a victory for the Kyuzo as well, something they could use in their own propaganda to recruit new members to their movement. If they could salvage the ship and repurpose it like the one she currently sat upon, may the Force be with them.

Loke had insisted that they stay nearby until the target had been fully secured. Knowing the bridge, Jacen would have everyone operating on high alert until they pulled out. R’yr likely had their guns locked onto anything important and her fingers hovering over the trigger in case they recovered. Zak would be maintaining her tight-beam jamming signal to keep them from calling for reinforcements. And Budrom would be ready to jump at a moment’s notice if things went sideways. They’d really settled into a mostly problem-free harmony, or at least they were tolerating each other well enough. Tolerance was an acceptable enough state for operations to get done professionally.

Surrounding the larger object, the shuttles swooped close - attaching themselves to both proper airlocks and weaker bits of the hull. Anyone inside would be ready for a fight and prepared to fortify the most likely entry points. If the Kyuzo could breach elsewhere, there was a chance of quickly overwhelming the defenders. There was no way to hear the actual sizzle and pop of the charges from here, but her mind still managed to imagine the sound. That searing flash of light as it melted through the metal and blew it inward. 

The corner of her mouth lifted slightly. _Do I really miss a good old fashioned boarding action? I have been spending most of my time in the cockpit lately. Maybe I should see if I can work one into the op plan_…

Sitting up, she realized she wouldn’t be able to hide out for much longer before people came looking. It was about time to get out of the system as well, and she wasn’t as sure as she’d like about where that might end up being. Pushing off, she slid down the edge to the floor and headed for the bridge.

Just as she expected, she felt his presence before the lift’s doors even slid open. It had its typical mix of both mild exasperation and genuine concern. As if their friendship was distilled into a distinguished libation and it was easy to forget that it was becoming just as aged.

“What’s the status of our supply rendezvous?”

Inpost put his hands out in confusion. “How do you always do that?”

“The Force. Same way I do a lot of things that seem to impress people. Or was that supposed to be rhetorical?”

“I don’t know. Both?” He sighed.

Loke cocked an eyebrow at him. She needed to get them back on track or this would go on for longer than it needed to. “Our stocks are looking a bit low. What’s our plan to meet back up for resupply?”

A clear hesitation. “Overall, we’ve exceeded our expectations for managing munitions, food, and general supplies. We can’t keep up the pace indefinitely, but that might mean being a bit more selective on our upcoming targets.”

“I’m guessing Fleet Command is still giving us the run-around on when we’re supposed to meet?”

“Pretty much. At first we were told to hold off for another day or two while they sorted out the administrative filing. Then it turned to contacting them when we were a little closer to Republic space, so that they weren’t risking a supply transport to Imperial attack. But now? We’ve been clearing out enemy ships and even keeping our strikes closer than planned to Republic worlds so it would make things easier.”

“Clearly it’s more than an administrative mix-up at this point. Can we contact Admiral Miryne? It’s been a while, but hopefully he still has a bit of a soft spot for the Jedi Order.”

Inpost shook his head. “Not this time. The Admiral’s been moved from the Core Worlds out to Belsavis to clean up the last of the riots and assist with the rebuilding effort.” His eyes settled on her with a shared disappointment at the circumstances. “You know, this kind of reminds me of that time on Seelos. Low on supplies, almost zero guidance from the higher-ups, getting by on booze and reckless creativity."

"Reckless? I don't know about that. Much like a lot of things, it isn't reckless if it works. Besides, when you're facing down that many pirates, it's not like they're following any sort of established rules either." Seelos had been quite a ride though. Loke caught herself almost imagining it was a simpler time. Close enough to the truth. _Simple perhaps, but not better_. They had lost good people in the fighting and a dozen more with life-long injuries. All for a barren world of salt plains and deserts. 

“So, if we can’t get confirmation from Command, what’s the plan?” Inpost asked, snapping her out of her reverie. “Should we just head back to Carrick Station and see what we can convince them to hand over?”

“No. If they’re avoiding an answer from afar, we’ll just get stuck in dock waiting for them to eventually help us out. And if it’s anything like the last time we went to Carrick, they’ll leave us drifting while we haul our full stores over piecemeal by shuttle.” Cynical, but she knew she was right about this. “Something bigger is going on and we’re getting punished for it. In the meantime, let’s make a point to move in and salvage what we can from targets in the future. Not sure what it might net us, or if it’ll be any value, but it should let us stay out a bit longer.”

“Sounds good.” 

“Hypothetically, how many more of these little ambushes could we pull off before we have to head back?”

He seemed to do the general math in his head. “Two or three, if we don’t go overboard. Maybe four or five if we’re lucky on salvaging missiles and coaxium from the wrecks.”

“And if we try to go after one big target?”

“That would probably burn through most of it all at once. I wouldn’t feel comfortable staying out without at least a bit in reserve to defend ourselves on the journey home.”

“The ship’s more important than my pride.” She agreed. “Let’s find something important to send a message, and then we can go have a face-to-face with Fleet Supply.”

“I’ll see what we can find.”

Loke gave him an approving nod as it seemed there wasn’t much more to talk about. Either this worked or they were turning around. A new presence was heading their way, one she sensed was searching for her. The Jedi could feel their emotional state through the Force - focused on festering outrage and mistrust. If it was for the reasons she thought, she had to deal with it immediately.

Turning to see the concern on her friend’s face, she waved it off. “I’m fine. Just need to take care of something. I’ll catch up with you in a bit.” Handing him the datapad, she watched him walk off toward his quarters for a bit of solitude. 

“Commander.” The voice behind her was distinctly Quarren. “May I have a word with you?” 

Loke turned to face R’yr. “Of course, Sergeant. Let’s speak in my quarters. It’ll give us privacy and the chance to be a bit more candid.”

“That- that would be great. Thank you.” Her moist skin glistened in the artificial light as she allowed Loke to lead the way. If nothing else, it seemed to diffuse a small degree of what R’yr was holding inside of herself.

Once she’d shut the door behind them, Loke motioned the woman toward the spare chair by her desk. “Alright. What is it that you wanted to discuss?”

“Chief Spree.” She said decisively. “I’ve heard enough about him and his reputation that I’m still wondering why you had him join our crew. If someone is known to harass and make his team members uncomfortable, why bring him here?”

She took a moment to find her center and calm her emotions. This wasn’t the first time she’d dealt with a conversation about this, but it bothered her that she had to keep addressing it. That even a few years later, it was treated like a current event.“He was accused of wrongdoing. That small part of what you said is true. He was also acquitted after an investigation.”

“I know you two are close.” She paused and held up a hand. “Not implying anything. I just wanted to be sure you weren’t just taking your friend’s side. I know those cases don’t always find real justice.” 

Loke felt her jaw tighten. “No. I stayed out of the way and let the military investigators do their jobs. I did, however, hold off on judging or outright condemning him until I had all the facts. In the end, he was cleared and nothing happened to anyone involved. Purely administrative.”

The Quarren clicked her fanged teeth. “I see.”

“The problem was, even the fact that he was accused of wrongdoing was enough to get the rumors flying. Cover-ups, crew avoiding him like he’d received a guilty verdict, even finding his leave requests denied. I demanded he be transferred here to give him a clean slate. Somewhere new to let old rumors fade and prove he’s the man I’ve always known him to be.” Loke looked at the woman closely. “Much like you. According to your file, you’ve got a storied history of insubordination. Is that all conjecture and false claims as well?”

R’yr’s eyes locked with hers. Defensive posture was similar between most species, even if the subtleties were lost in translation. "I'm allergic to poor leadership." 

“I think we may be allergic to the same thing then.” 

“It’s why I came to you.” She leaned back in her chair while relaxing ever so slightly. “You haven’t been like some of my former commanders, so this whole situation confused me. I appreciate that you didn’t just blow me off.” 

“What kind of leader would I be if I didn’t try to fix problems where I could?” 

“You’d be surprised.”

Loke just smirked in response. “Considering my dealings with command? Not really.”

<< >>  


#### Starboard Observation

####  _Nocturne_

Originally, the Empire had built this room in more as a utilitarian meeting and assembly room than anything recreational. A place away from the officers to conduct announcements or present awards without tying up the hangar operations. Usually a large rectangular window would be a structural weakness, but the Imps also had a flair for the dramatic. Views of a far-off nebula or hyperspace flashing by in the background always looked nice for commanders.

It hadn’t taken long for _Nocturne_’s new crew to drag out the drab tables in here, replacing them with couches and some potted plants. A teamwork project to create a proper space to relax outside of duty and the mess hall. The Republic at its finest. They’d also turned the presentation area into a makeshift bar, stocked with a variety of bottles from across the Galaxy that had been brought on board. What drinking instruments there were came in a mix of sizes and materials. 

All of it was completely against Republic military guidelines, but Jorys wasn’t about to send in an anonymous tip. Master Sanna and Commander Inpost seemed to give unspoken approval for now. A place for people to blow off a little steam between duty shifts and battle. If it ever got out of hand or abused, it would be a privilege quickly taken away. That seemed to be true for most things in the Galaxy - things could be wonderful until someone decided to ruin it for everyone else.

“Commander Inpost.” Jorys said firmly, moving to parade rest. “I have the information you requested.”

If there was any question as to the bar’s temporary legitimacy, it was the man sitting on the couch as he sipped his Dorian Quill. Taking his eyes off of the scenery, he shifted from his comfortable position to give her his full attention. “Thanks for bringing it to me personally. What’ve you got?”

Jorys cast a look around to check for anyone listening in. Only an engineer and one of the troopers deeply engrossed in some story by the bar. She would have preferred complete privacy, but as long as they kept their voices low, they could avoid being overheard. 

“SIS finally got through exploiting the data we pulled from the facility on Saleucemi. It provided a handful of delivery locations at Imperial facilities for further refinement into what we still assume is some sort of healing product. One of them, however, didn’t match the others. The coordinates put them in the Malastare system.” She held up a finger as her excitement grew. This next part was the punchline, and she wanted to make it through without interruption. “Which brings us to the attack on that frigate ten days ago. Remember how they were able to slip out of our jamming for just a moment? Although we couldn’t intercept the message, it looks like they also sent it somewhere in the same system.”

Inpost sat forward in disbelief. “There’s an Imperial facility on Malastare?”

“Not quite. It looks to be in the same system, near the planet Bingsing. As a gas giant with sixteen moons, it would be simple to hide a smaller station or floating platform. Based on the data that SIS sent over, we’re probably looking at some sort of listening post.” More an assessment than something confirmed, but all the evidence pointed to it. And she knew that Inpost didn’t need absolute confirmation before she brought it to his attention. If it really was a listening post though, defenses would be light to non-existent. Ruined the whole covert operation to have a capital ship hanging out next to your hidden base.

“That would explain a lot. No one’s been able to figure out how the Imps pulled off such a devastating attack on the _Valor_.” He sighed but seemed renewed. “Good work, Jorys. Really good work. I guess this means we have our next target. I’ll get Budrom to set a course and then let Lok- I mean, I’ll let Commander Sanna know what you’ve uncovered.”

“Thank you, sir.” Jorys nodded, tucking her datapad into the crook of her arm and turning on her heel to head back to the bridge. A return trip tonight seemed like a fun idea though. Her shift would be over in a couple hours, and where better to get to know some of her fellow crew members than in a more relaxed setting?

_Maybe I should see if R’yr wants to come. Stars knows if anyone needs a chance to relax, it’s her_.


	11. Eavesdropping

### 11︱Eavesdropping

#### Imperial Post LP-930

#### Bingsing

“Keep it steady up there.” Loke found herself keeping her voice low even though the enemy couldn’t hear. “Warlock two, hold ready position until the last moment.”

Ibri had an edge of anticipation in her professional tone. “Roger that.”

About ten minutes earlier, Budrom had spotted the shine of the listening post’s intercept panels. It hung just off of the smallest and closest of the moons. A rocky, lifeless hunk of rock, dark above the chartreuse planet’s swirling cloud cover. Not that Loke could see much but the half illuminated moons outside the shields and her own control board. Everything was lit up and showing good signs for when she was no longer quite so stationary.

She took a deep breath to focus herself. _Jacen and the crew have this. It’s not like we haven’t done this half a dozen times_. But somehow this was different. A bigger target, changing their proven tactics to something new. There were still too many unknown. It had her more anxious and on edge until everything was done.

Through her helmet came an Imperial voice with a now familiar opening line. “Imperial craft, identify yourself. We have no record of your travel.”

Jorys was practiced and polite. “This is the assault ship _Nocturne_. Command redirected us here on reports that Sith Intelligence uncovered a threat against this outpost. As the closest ship in the sector, we’ll be providing protection.”

“Hold please.” 

It took less time than Loke would have liked for a much more authoritative voice to appear. “This is Watcher Seventeen. Your presence here is highly irregular, _Nocturne_. Our records show you should still be on patrol in the Mygeeto Sector for another three weeks. Please transfer me to Commander Uris so I may discuss this with her personally.”

_Well, that’s going to be difficult_. Loke shook her head and gripped the control stick a bit tighter. If he wanted to talk to Commander Uris, he was going to have to make an appointment with SIS headquarters on Coruscant. Last Loke had heard, Uris was less than cooperative and fully playing the duty-bound soldier during her interrogation sessions. A respectable response given her situation, as the Republic tended to treat prisoners of war by the rule of law, and Uris didn’t seem like she would be a pushover. She may have lost her ship, but Loke doubted there was any leverage to use against her now.

“Commander Uris is otherwise engaged, Watcher.” Jorys reported. “She’s finishing final briefings to the security team and ensuring everything is prepared for the defense.”

A solid improvisation. She had to give the comm officer credit for her quick thinking. Unlike their earlier attacks where the fighters could compensate for launching early, stalling was of the utmost importance this time. She and her wingwoman could cause serious damage if they had to, but their priority would need to be covering for Bostic’s shuttle if they hoped to take the objective. 

“Vala really has changed since taking command. I don’t ever remember her leaving the bridge to handle things personally.” Watcher responded wryly. “I’m sure you won’t mind that I’ve reached out to Kaas City for confirmation.”

_Kriff me_. Loke swore as she jammed the throttle open. Inertia gripped her body tight and pushed her deep in her seat as the thrusters turned bright crimson-white. “All craft, launch!”

“What are you doing?” Inpost had switched to the internal channel. “We’re not in range!”

Rolling left and skimming past the bridge, she aimed her nose at the dark, thin shape on the horizon. Almost like an industrial facsimile of a library on one end, the center of the structure tapered into a thinner beam. At the far side was a large, fan-like array of solar panels to keep the outpost running without giving off the same energy signature of a proper reactor core. Antennas jutted out from numerous panels for transmitting and receiving the untold amounts of data flowing through every single day. Unlike the warships she’d faced before, this was much more fragile. A stray shot could render the whole place uninhabitable.

“Too late for that. Block their comms and watch the skies. If we’re lucky, we’ll have a firefight. If we’re not, we’ll be taking on the Imperial fleet.”

“Roger.” He changed tone alongside his subject. “Warlock Heavy, you’re clear for now. Stay on a direct course, and we’ll cover you with our main guns.”

Bostic’s voice was tight. “You can count on us.”

Off her port side, Loke spotted Ibri’s fighter flying parallel to hers. She may not be Force-sensitive, but the woman had some top-notch reflexes to keep up. Her instructors had failed miserably in their duties by punishing her, but their mistake had given a wonderful asset to _Nocturne_. 

"Warlock Heavy," Loke added, "I have a secondary mission for your team as well: Capture Watcher Seventeen alive and bring him back. His intel could be invaluable to breaking Imperial control. Any access to the information feeds, datapads, or maps your team can recover remains the priority though."

"Let you know what we find."

'Watcher' wasn't the man's name, of course, but the Empire would have stripped away everything that made him unique ages ago. Those in Sith Intelligence had their names taken from them when they joined, giving them a moniker matching their job and a number designation. Their office would be a nightmare, she imagined, when everyone was a 'Watcher,' 'Fixer,' 'Minder,' or one of the deadly 'Cipher' agents. Did they go purely by number-related nicknames? Something to add to the list of questions for the interrogators once he was in custody. 

As they reached the outpost's paneling structure, Loke and Ibri split up to run down opposite sides and take out any weapon turrets before the shuttle arrived. Surprisingly, there didn't seem to be any, at least not that they could see. Even the trench on the thinner section only had rows of transmission dishes to accommodate their needs. Seemed like hubris to skip even some autocannons for defense. 

On the bright side it made for a smoother boarding action for her compatriots.

Still, Loke kept her senses alert and trusted in the Force to warn her of any incoming danger. It tended to be more sensitive than even her finely tuned sensor array. Technology was a wonderful companion, but her instincts rarely steered her wrong.

The assault shuttle came in at considerable speed, swinging around at the last minute in a maneuver that made it appear that they were going to crash into the station. A tube-like extension now protruding from the nose locked into place and created a seal between the airlock’s blast door and the ship itself.

Approximately ten seconds later, the line came to life again. “We’re in, Warlock Leader. Solid breach. Only minor resistance on entry, so the rest of them are probably holed up in the command center.”

Loke made another long, looping pass. She didn’t expect the Imperials to just be waiting to surrender or go quietly, but she hoped that they were too off-balance to actually mount a proper defense. Stations like this were usually staffed with technicians and analysts over battle-hardened soldiers just for living space and utility. The Colonel’s squad seemed like a well-disciplined bunch as well, which gave her confidence that things would sort themselves out quickly. 

Something felt… wrong. A ripple in the Force that was only confirmed seconds later when a call came in from the bridge.

Jorys sounded uneasy. “Warlock Leader, we have company coming out of hyperspace on the scanners!”

Snapping into realspace, the large ship was distinctly Imperial and triangular with a row of bays slung underneath. Loke recognized its purpose as some sort of fighter carrier, more of a support ship that was filled with smaller, angrier ones. Better than a group of frigates, but still more than they were equipped to deal with at the moment - especially with a team still stuck on board the outpost.

A new voice filled her helmet, the transmission sent on an open channel. “Attention, those aboard _Nocturne_ or whatever you may have renamed it. This is Commodore Novia of the _Infinity_. Power down your weapons, shield, and engines in preparation for surrender. You’ve shown yourselves to be spies and terrorists, and will be tried as such under Imperial law.” 

Inpost responded first, bypassing Jorys to handle this. “Hey, nice to meet you, but that’s not going to happen. We don’t really follow Imperial laws in the Republic and I finally got things just how I like them in my quarters.” A bold answer, but none of them expected mercy when they were flying around a stolen ship and currently ransacking more Imperial property. All of this bluster was just to get Nocturne to drop their guard before the Empire had them all killed for humiliating them. 

“Warlock Two,” Loke used their direct channel, “break right to take on these guys. I’ll be there in a minute to back you up.”

“Affirmative.” Ibri flipped over and headed to take on the threat.

Novia was clearly miffed at such disrespect from Inpost and those he saw as mere criminals. “So be it. I’m going to enjoy ending your reign of terror personally.”

On cue, a squadron of fighters swarmed out of the central bay. They were tiny from this distance, but were likely all Mk VI interceptors. A mixed blessing in Loke’s eyes, as bombers would have been solely for a targeted strike to destroy her ride home. 

Cutting back over the docked shuttle, Loke called to those inside. “Warlock Heavy, we’ve got fighter reinforcements incoming! Fall back immediately with whatever you’ve got. We’ll hold these guys off, but your shuttle is too exposed.” 

A flurry of garbled blaster fire over the line sounded as frustrated as the Colonel. “A little busy ourselves, but acknowledged Warlock Leader. The wounded are going to take time to move.”

Across the newly forming battlefield, Loke spotted a Mk. VI that seemed much more agile than its wingmen. They had broken away from the rest of the group to make a run on Ibri’s fighter, still chasing her own quarry. Keeping her head on a swivel, she left the station undefended to go assist her partner. If we can salvage the next few minutes, she thought morosely, we might just make it out of here alive.

<< >>

Raym had tried to contain his excitement as his fighter cleared _Infinity_’s hangar on their way to confront the enemy. There it was, _Nocturne_, the supposed ghost ship that had been plaguing command for weeks - and now Raym’s fighters would get to eliminate the threat personally. He almost couldn’t believe his luck. Crossing paths here had been partially a coincidence, as the recent attacks in the surrounding sectors meant Infinity was rerouted from its normal patrol route. When the call came in from Bingsing, they were perfectly positioned to respond.

Hard to believe that such a small and lightly armed ship had wrought such damage to the fleet. And were there only two fighters protecting it? This had to be some sort of trap that meant others were waiting to jump in and ambush them. Scanners showed nothing else in range, but that didn’t mean the Republic wasn’t out there.

“Spear Four through Seven, cripple that traitorous ship. Everyone else with me. Let’s make sure none of these Republic fools escape.”

A chorus of acknowledgement came back as they split in half to deal with both problems at once. The larger ship was closer, and Raym glanced over to watch the other flight fire bursts at it as they passed. Plasma bolts splashed off of the shields, leaving bright flashes of white as they whittled down the defenses. Persistence and attacking from multiple angles would have the ship disabled in no time.

His confidence was tempered when he heard a grunted curse came over the radio. “This is Spear Four! Lost my stabilizers, and have to break off.”

"Acknowledged, Spear Four." It seemed his pilots had forgotten that assault ships came with a dorsal turret as well. Frustrating, but better to have her withdraw and avoid losing a pilot if they could. The others could finish softening up the target for destruction. 

The fighters remained the larger threat anyway, but they would be swatted down quickly. Bantol had already engaged one of them ahead. Much as the pilot tried, there was no shaking the maneuverability of the Mk. VI. If he didn't take the shot soon though, Raym might swoop in and steal the kill from him as a bit of competition. 

“About to be one less mynock pestering us, Spear Leader. Just need to clip its-” Bantol’s tone turned from triumphant to fearful. “No! Wait!” 

Raym watched as his friend swerved away from the pursuit, just for an incoming missile to collide with his fighter. Both man and machine disintegrated in a concussive fireball as the second Republic fighter streaked through the debris. This one was decorated in a tri-color pattern and already aiming for Spear Three’s flight path. 

White-hot anger and grief burned through Raym in an inferno. All those years of friendship, nights at the bar, and endless hours of debating about the Galaxy - it was all gone in an instant. Half the officers he’d served under would be disappointed in his rage. Bantol had given his life in the service of the Empire’s glory while fighting the enemy. Raym should accept his sacrifice and use it to complete the mission, but how could he? Raym fired off an impulsive burst in the general direction of the attacker to try and drive them away. 

There was still one thing he could do. One way to ensure that the Republic failed in their quest and maybe take out some of them in the process. Tracking the deadly pilot to avoid getting killed himself, he called for a more powerful form of assistance.

“Spear Leader to _Infinity_. Fire main guns on Elpee-Ninethirty immediately.” Raym fought to keep his tone from screaming it as a demand. 

“Negative, Commander. The Commodore has not approved the station’s destruction.” 

_Cowards. Ignore that old fool and just do your damn job_. If they wouldn’t do what needed to be done, he would have to do it himself. Pulling around in a sharp turn, he turned to his remaining wingmen. “Spear Wing, form up on me. We’re making an attack run on the station. Aim for the fuel cells and main support columns.”

“But sir, what about the personnel on board?” Spear Six inquired nervously.

“I gave you an order, Sergeant. Fire on that station.”

The silence that filled the line served as something close enough to acquiescence. Whether they followed him or not was immaterial. Even as the shuttle disengaged and slipped behind the station’s cover, he lined up his sights on what seemed the most critical. The Republic was on the run, and he hoped they’d left some of their own behind.

Novia’s voice was sharp. “Commander, what do you think you’re doing?” But it was too late. They had already begun their strike, weapons blazing as they streaked past. Ruining critical systems and forcing the Commodore’s hand. He knew it as well, based on his next order. “All weapons, fire at will.”

In the distance, _Infinity_’s row of turbolaser batteries rotated in his direction to target the listening post. Nothing compared to a _Harrower-class_, in Raym’s opinion, but enough to send a clear message. Moments later, the wall of destruction made its way across the expanse. Raym couldn’t help but feel some relief that his friend had been avenged by making the Republic’s mission for naught.  
<< >>

Loke watched in horror as the Imperial turbolasers carved through their own people like it was made of durasheet. Emerald lines that were overkill for anything smaller than a frigate. Large holes burned through the solar panels as they broke apart, sending geysers of white as oxygen blew into the vacuum. There would be no survivors. She hadn’t seen any escape pods before the shooting started, and the chances of surviving the opening salvo were astronomical.

For a moment she had flashbacks to one of the worst days of her life. _This is Genarius all over again_. Watching an Imperial-held station break apart as it spun toward the gravity well of the gas giant in the distance. Once it disappeared into the pillowy clouds, there would be no way of salvaging anything on board. How could they kill their own men? Was this some sort of twisted sacrifice to keep it out of enemy hands?

None of that mattered now though. If they were willing to blow up the listening post, there was no limit to what they might do to kill her crew. Ibri was already one step ahead of her, running full-burn for her hangar bay with the shuttle doing its best to follow. 

“Warlock Leader to Bridge, full evac! Plot us a course out of here and jump the second we’re on board.”

Jorys tried to be reassuring. “Already on it, Warlock Leader. Just get back safe. We’ve got your back.”

Well, hopefully that would make the fighters think twice for the moment.

Even traveling full-speed, it felt like the fighter still wasn’t quite fast enough for her tastes. She checked her display again to ensure that shields, weapons, and thrusters were all operating at full strength. All in the green. Just to try and coax a little more power though, she switched all of her weapon power to the engines and shifted shields to full rear. The results were negligible, but it made her feel better.

A few bolts went wide past her fighter and Nocturne as the goal seemed in sight. The bridge’s chin cannon responded with its own burst to gain them necessary seconds. Tendrils of anxiety scratched at the back of Loke’s neck with the worry that the Imperial gunners would actually figure out how to aim at more than stationary, defenseless targets. 

With one last adjustment, the fighter threaded the needle and scratched across the deck with a screech of metal. That’s gonna take some effort to buff out. But at least they were all on board. She could get this thing back in position at some point. Outside, the stars dragged across the opening in long streaks before becoming the undulating curve of the hyperspace tunnel.

Ibri sounded out of breath over the comm. “We’re never doing that again.”

No, we’re most certainly not.


	12. Consequences

### 12︱Consequences

#### Hangar Bay Besh

####  _Infinity_

Raym’s feet had barely touched the ground when he spotted one of the bomber pilots headed his way. The commanding officer of the 53rd, if he wasn't mistaken. Light gleamed off his long-receded hairline, one trait marking him as one of the older pilots on the flight line. Balled fists and anger creasing his forehead made it clear what his intentions were. Honestly, after watching his friend die out there, Raym welcomed what was coming. _Just give me a reason to let loose_.

“How dare you!? You murdered loyal Imperial citizens out there, and for what?” Captain Pross looked around at the growing audience. Technicians and weary pilots watching a man who hadn't even been out in the middle of the fight yell at the Captain that had. Quite a display of public disrespect, especially among Imperial officers.“Looks like we have a traitor in our midst, doing the Republic’s work for them! You disgust me.”

As the man stepped within range to confront him, Raym struck with a sharp right jab. It was a clean, textbook hit that clearly took the pilot by surprise. Raym felt the cartilage of the nose crumple under the force of the hit, a satisfyingly wet crunch. It wouldn’t bring Bantol back to life, but it was cathartic to strike back against something hostile. Blood poured forth almost instantly, and the shock of pain and sensory overload toppled the black-suited pilot like a sack of tubers.

“Consider your opinion noted, Captain.” Raym seethed.

Stepping over the unconscious man now sprawled on the floor, he headed for the turbolifts. When the doors opened, a complement of armored soldiers were waiting for him. They raised their weapons in warning before an officer pushed through the phalanx and stepped forward with a pair of binders. He didn’t look too pleased with Raym either.

“Captain Raym, you’ve been relieved of duty on the orders of Commodore Novia for insubordination and dereliction of duty. You’re under arrest.”

<< >>  


#### Hangar Catwalks

####  _Nocturne_

_What the hell happened out there_?

The metal handrail was cold to the touch but warming quickly under Loke’s tight grip as she leaned on it with both hands. From up here she had a view on the hangars on this side as well as being mostly left alone. Everything smelled of almost metallic, sanitized air mixed with the typical mechanical scents of any repair bay. Lubricant, burnt components, a touch of ozone from engine exhaust and weapons testing. In some ways it was almost soothing, reminding her of times she’d worked on repair projects on her old ship.

Parked at a strange angle below was the insertion team’s shuttle, patches of black carbon scoring scorched along its hull and one gull-shaped wing. Nothing that couldn’t be fixed, but a reminder of how close they came to being destroyed in the firestorm. She wished she could say everyone made it out, but that would have been too optimistic. Two of the team were killed in the confusion of pushing forward while being required to withdraw. Two Republic troopers that had to be left behind and would never be recovered. There were at least three wounded as well, the pieces of green-white armor discarded by a stack of crates still marred with blood from trying to get it off when they landed.

Even a couple hours later the wounded were still laying in the medical bay and being tended to by the droids with copious amounts of kolto. A Sergeant that usually served as the team’s medic was there as well, doing what she could to stabilize her friends. She couldn’t imagine how hard this was on them all, losing half your team in one mission that should have been a bantha milk run.

A small victory in all this was a couple cloth bags laying on the deck. According to Bostic, they were stuffed with a variety of datapads, datacards, and any random items that looked important during the assault. Once things died down a bit, she would gather a team to spread them out and start triaging what had potential intelligence value. Make things a little easier for SIS to get them proper exploitation. Her knuckles whitened around the metal bar and she took a calming breath. There had been no tapping the Imperial feeds, no prisoner for insight into the enemy, just losses and praying one of these captured devices would give them a lead.

Even though they had taken down a few of the interceptors, it did little to lift her spirits. Not with a station full of people being blown apart in some desperate act by the Empire. The flaming and broken station falling toward the planet was an image that would stick with her for a while.

Someone had moved to the doorway behind her. She could feel his presence, his worry, even the still warm repair welder on his hip. It only made sense that he was concerned about her, especially after what had just occurred.

“Something you need, Chief?”

His voice was softer than normal. A tone he only took when he was trying to be supportive. "You have a little time? Want to grab a drink?"

"Thanks, but I'm taking a break from the hard stuff for the time being. Tucked away the last of it when I got back from that first ambush. It'll be better for me and the ship."

He nodded approvingly. "I understand. In that case, do you want to introduce me to those… what were those things you have the mess making?"

"Takhos." She offered with a smirk before turning around.

“Takhos.” He repeated. “Word among my team says they’re pretty good.”

“Here’s hoping there’s still a few left. Supplies were running a bit sparse last I checked. Soon enough we’ll be smearing standard-issue nutrient paste on the shells.”

Luckily the mess hall was practically empty and 2P-Y0 was in a service-friendly mood with making them a special order. Mostly because he’d just finished his routine cleaning and it didn’t interrupt his programming. There was only one option - dewback - but that had always been her favorite anyway.

Taking a large bite, she decided reprogramming that droid may have been among her greatest accomplishments. Tender, spicy, a bit of crunch to balance it all out - just the way she loved it.

She set the pocket of deliciousness down and looked across the table. “You brought me here just to get me to actually eat something, didn’t you?”

“I can’t confirm or deny that it was the primary reason.” He responded coyly. “Honestly, I wanted to see how you were holding up. Not just because of what just happened out there. I know you get focused on projects and just start skipping the essentials like sleeping, eating, and generally doing anything to take care of yourself.”

“I’m fine. Today was definitely not what I expected, but we’ll keep doing our jobs and surviving.” Filling her mouth again, she began to hope this conversation would become a bit more of quiet commiseration. Silence and some good food sounded like the perfect combination.

He shook his head. “Cut out the defensive _poodoo_. We’ve known each other for years. Everyone else may have missed it, but I could see you were a bit unsure when you walked on board and were suddenly expected to be in charge of a whole warship filled with lots of personalities that frequently don’t get along.” Pointing out into the hall, he continued. “It’s only natural that it would be absolutely terrifying, even for an unflappable and mystically powered Jedi master like you. And you’ve shown this crew that you’re an incredible leader, don’t get me wrong. I just found it strange to see the subtle shift in someone that’s usually so confident. Almost like you’re as human as the rest of us.”

Loke glared at him with a cutting look that could rival her saber’s blade, but it softened almost immediately. She hated to admit he was at least partially right, but she had her pride wrapped up in the crew’s success.

“It was a challenge at first,” she admitted, “but I’m starting to feel more at home with the crew and flow of this place. It’s a great group, and it comes from how unique each of them are. Their flaws and quirks and struggles are what make them creative and brilliant and exactly the kind of people I want to serve alongside.”

“Based on the scuttlebutt on the hangar deck, and this is only what I overhear, you’re quite popular. They appreciate that you treat them like they’re competent and actual people. You expect them to work hard and fight every day, but you balance that by rewarding them for their service. Giving them things like takhos, gifting them bags of sweets, relaxing regs on little things. They aren’t just cogs keeping this machine running, you care about them and their well-being.” He lifted his own takho to take another bite.

Loke felt the introspection that she’d been suppressing start to break through and bubble to the surface. Things she told herself she could reflect on one day, once it didn’t matter anymore. “I never really saw myself in command of so many people. Being responsible for so many people. I’ve always worked alone or as part of a small strike force. Get in, accomplish the mission, get out without being noticed. And when it was over I moved on to the next thing. Clean break that avoided maintaining the connections or the drama that comes with it.”

“Can’t be all true. Commander Inpost and I are evidence enough that you don’t cut everyone off.” He looked both ways conspiratorially before cupping his hand near his mouth like he was telling a secret. “You might even have… friends.”

“Getting sick of you and your snark.”

“Anytime.”

“Watching that listening post explode and crash just has me thinking back to the last war. The longer this new fight goes on with the Sith, the more it feels like it was just last week. I had a friend back then, she was practically my sister. We grew up in the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, spending all of our times together training, debating, and imagining what the future would hold once the war ended.” She waved off the growing nostalgia. “Anyway, she would have loved all of this. The ship, being in a military command, rushing head-long into battle against the enemy. She was a stalwart guardian that would’ve been the sort of gung-ho face that the Republic was looking for.

Spree leaned in a little closer. “Where is she now? Would she be able to give you advice on what she would do?”

Loke shook her head sadly. “She died a long time ago. Killed trying to save me after I got a little too acquainted with a grenade.”

“I’m sorry to hear it. Well, we’ll bounce back from this.” He attempted to segue to something more hopeful. “Reminds me of the tragedy on Uphrades a few years ago. That Sith lord devastated the planet with a super weapon, but a team of Jedi and Republic forces pushed past it to hunt him down and destroy the ship for good.”

A quite snicker made its way from her lips. “Is it me, or are there a shocking number of super weapons out there? Republic, Imperial, just scores of them. Giant fleet-killing lasers, atmospheric superchargers, asteroid-firing gravity cannons, machines that can shake a planet apart… Who thinks of these things? Half of them seem just as deadly to the users as their targets.”

“Beats me. You’d think it would be simpler and far cheaper to just build a couple fleets and do things the conventional way.”

“Nah.” Loke finished chewing her last bite. “We’re anything but conventional around here.”

She had to admit she felt a little better, and the kernel of an idea was forming at the edge of her mind. Something to help not only the crew, but to remind herself what they were fighting for as well. First though, they needed to get somewhere safe.

<< >>  


#### Holding Cell Three

####  _Infinity_

There were only three detention cells on the carrier. More an afterthought than any sort of necessity. The ship was built for deploying fighters and bombers, not taking prisoners. They only existed for dealing with petty crimes and disorderly conduct on board. Crew members rarely stepped out of line, other than the occasional case of intoxication or simple assault. _Well, I’m guilty of one of those things_, Raym thought wryly.

He no longer wore his binders, but he was still clad in his pilot’s uniform. It was comfortable enough, although a little stiff if he would be forced to sleep here for the night. Better than being given a prisoner’s jumpsuit, although that could still change depending on the next few hours.

Glancing around the room, it was uncomfortably small and bare, with only a simple bed on a metal slab and refresher. Meant for short-term stays while drying out or to serve a few days. Any longer than that would mean a trip to a more serious facility like the military prison on Dromund Kaas. Or the less desirable option of a swift trial by military authorities and execution before they reached their next waypoint.

Approaching footsteps made him turn back toward the glowing ray shield and come to a general parade rest. Perhaps overkill, but only a few people would be stopping by for a visit right now, and all of them outranked him.

Novia came to a stop outside the cell, his hands firmly behind his back. He stared at Raym silently while clearly trying to unpack the series of events that led him here. “Captain, you disobeyed a direct order and attacked an Imperial outpost. Destroyed a strategic location vital to our effort in this region. That act in itself is enough for me to have you shot.” He put one hand to his face to massage the bridge of his nose. “And then you thought it wise to top things off by assaulting Captain Pross. Have you lost your mind? That’s the only explanation I can come up with as to why you’d openly defy me.”

“Sir, I understand how this must look, but I took those actions to protect our efforts in this region. Yes, it’s a tragic loss, but the station was about to be captured by the Republic. We’ve already seen from the presence of _Nocturne_ that they have the capacity to carry it out. Control of our classified intelligence and communication networks would have had far further reaching consequences than just this battle. We had encryption codes, detailed battle plans, and key personnel they may have captured.”

“The key word in that statement is ‘may,’ Captain. Our procedures don’t operate on hunches and possibilities.” The Commodore’s disgust was only deepening as they spoke. “There would only be personnel to capture if the Republic hadn’t killed them during the assault. Our technicians and analysts know better than to simply give up and be captured without a fight.”

Raym’s jaw hardened as he tried to hold his tongue. No use in making this any worse. This would be where Bantol would step in like he was so good at doing, helping Raym to massage his response. Explaining that this was all a misunderstanding or a radio malfunction. But that was no longer an option.

“What happens now?”

Novia chewed this over in the uncomfortable silence. “I haven’t decided yet. I’m going to leave it up to Fleet Command to determine our next steps, and what exactly we should do with you.” Turning on his heel, he disappeared back up to the command deck with his escort. 

Prison, execution, reinstatement, anything was possible when it came to command’s fickle will. Better not to expect any outcome over the others. _Was it worth it_? Raym was feeling more confident by the moment that it was. He’d taken decisive action and stopped the Republic. Dereliction of duty? Fighting and thwarting the enemy was his only duty.

Avoiding the urge to punch one of the metal walls, which would be guaranteed to hurt, he paced the tiny space. The memory of watching Bantol’s fighter explode kept creeping into the edges of his memory, only for him to tamp it down. If he ever made it to a holonet terminal again, Beja deserved a personalized letter to let her know about how brave her husband had been. That he’d been an inspiration to the rest of the squadron and would never be forgotten by anyone, especially Raym himself. It would be better than anything the Ministry of War would send her.

_Poor Beja. What am I even going to say_?

An hour later, the sound of voices caught his attention. Standing slowly, he tried to prepare mentally for whatever the sentence ended up being. Novia returned alone this time, his face even more deeply lined than before. He straightened his uniform and stared the prisoner in the eyes.

“We’ve reviewed the after-action reports of both the battle cameras and your wingmen. They’re loyal to you and your orders, that’s for sure. I think they’d follow you into the heart of a star if you ordered them. Their conviction doesn’t change my view on the situation, however.”

Raym was defiant. “I stand by what I did, sir. And if my squadron is still willing to follow me after today, I’d like to continue the hunt for that ship so we can destroy it and the scum flying it once and for all.”

Novia’s eyes darkened at this. “Perhaps you made the right call out there in your eyes, but that doesn’t change the fact of what you did. Firing on allied forces is unforgivable, and shows that I was wrong to put faith in you when I gave you command of the squadron. Because of that, I refuse to keep you on my ship any longer than required.”

“With all due respect, Commodore...”

The older man raised a hand to silence him. “I’ve spoken with command about this, and you’ll be reassigned to the frigate _Dawnfire_. Apparently someone out there, a Sith I’m told, doesn’t think you’re a monster. Once we’re close to the rendezvous point, we’ll release you from this cell to pack your things. Until then, I hope you're comfortable.”

As his superior officer moved back down the hallway, Raym sank back onto the cell’s thin mattress and stared at the empty space outside. Whatever came next, whoever this mysterious patron was, it had to be better than his current situation.


	13. A New Patron

### 13︱A New Patron

####  _Dawnfire_

####  _Terminus-class_ Destroyer

As his shuttle crossed the expanse between Vaiken Spacedock, Raym took in the flagship and the task force it commanded. Raym had skimmed the pre-brief on the way to make integration easier. Along with the _Dawnfire_ were two other frigates, _Triumph_ and _Khar Shian_, sitting in formation for their on-going refit. Positioned behind them was the _Gage-class_ supply transport _Pulsar_. A simple fleet in comparison to the rest of the battle groups clustered around the Imperial Fleet’s headquarters, but a better chance to show off his skills to whoever this Sith Lord happened to be. 

When the shuttle’s ramp lowered, Raym waited patiently for the other troopers and officers returning from shore leave to file off before standing himself. He chose to wear his standard uniform rather than a pilot’s flightsuit. It was unlikely he’d need to hop in a fighter anytime soon, and better to make a good first impression considering where he’d just left. Brushing off anything the might have settled during his journey, he took a few easy steps down the incline before turning to the ground crew.

“My personal effects are in the cargo hold. A crate with the name ‘Raym’ on it. Make sure they’re delivered to my quarters.”

“As you command.” The man responded obediently.

A female officer with blond hair, a sharp bone structure, and eyes of deep jade strode his way before snapping a crisp salute. “Captain Raym, welcome to _Dawnfire_. We’ve been expecting you, and I’ve been asked to bring you up to speed on your new command. Shyrack Squadron has a reputation for being a formidable opponent with an impressive record of kills. Our unit will be the lead squadron for this task force.”

“And your name, officer?” 

She straightened and chewed the bitter words in her mouth. “Dala, sir. Lieutenant Cate Dala. I’ve been - transferred to be your XO. I was on Mygeeto during the capture of _Nocturne_.”

“You weren’t called to assist during the assault?”

“A story for another time. We have some new pilots I’d like you to meet. Right this way.” 

The ready room on this ship wasn’t as conveniently located as the one on _Infinity_. Likely due to their difference in combat role. The carrier was built purely for fighter deployment, which made the priority supporting the pilots and their crews. But this warship’s primary weapon was itself, fighting other capital ships directly and leaving pilots in a supporting role. Next to one of the doorways was a circular sign displaying an eyeless, bat-like avian with razor sharp teeth. _This must be the place_.

Among the group of humans making conversation while they waited were two pilots that stood out from the rest. The first was a gaunt, bald near-human with achromatic eyes. An Umbaran, the ‘shadow people’ of the Ghost Nebula. He turned his haunted gaze to the newcomers and saluted. Next to him was a Nikto, although Raym wasn’t sure which of the handful of subspecies he was looking at. Just cold black eyes set in a leathery green face with spiked ridges around the edge.

“Who are you, and what are you doing in my ready room?”

Dala stepped up next to him and quickly intervened. “Everyone, this is Captain Guez Raym. He’ll be taking over command of Shyrack. Sir, meet you new wingmen, Corporal Vir Curil and Specialist Guurot.”

“Aliens in the military? Is this some kind of joke?” The concept almost didn’t compute in his head. For over a thousand years, the Sith Empire had explicit rules about keeping lesser species out of the warrior class. Not tainting it with anyone that could bring down the Imperial war machine’s unmatched battle readiness. Non-humans still had their place in society, of course - as shopkeepers, factory workers, cleaners, and slaves.

“No joke, Captain. A new push from Imperial Command to reward loyal citizens with opportunities for service. To prove themselves against the enemies that seek to destroy us.”

Raym scoffed. “It can’t be that simple. Where is this really coming from?”

“Few things are.” The woman’s face hardened. It was clear she did not enjoy this line of questioning from someone usurping her position. “One of the changes ordered by the Dark Council following Darth Malgus’s treasonous actions on Ilum. They took note of the support he received from his primarily alien troops, the trouble our forces had breaking his lines. It only made sense to utilize all of the Empire’s resources in our struggle against the Republic.”

“And the dark lord in charge of this task force? What do they think about this change?”

“You can ask her personally. She’s waiting for you in her chambers. Head up the lift on corridor three.”

It took three different turbolifts to reach the level below the command deck, located in the destroyer’s superstructure near the stern of the ship. A pair of guards stood sentry outside the commander’s door, although Raym had no doubt the woman inside was more than capable of defending herself against any threat that made it to her doorstep. They saluted and stepped aside to allow him through.

Inside, the space was more a series of connected rooms. This main one served as an office and receiving room, and Raym assumed the doorways on each side lead to private living quarters and likely a personal training or meditation room. Sith supposedly loved a good room to reflect on hatred and anger and all that. It was better lit than he expected, taking a small amount of the malevolence out of the meeting.

“Ah, Captain Raym. Thank you for stopping by. Take a seat, if you’d like.” Behind the wide desk sat a hooded woman in dark gray armor, examining the ship’s diagnostic reports. She wore no thick robes like some Sith, the hood extending from her undersuit. Plating on her arms looked asymmetric, which seemed to imply cybernetics, but Raym decided to skip asking for details just yet. Her voice had a touch of synthesization through the respirator she wore over her mouth and nose, but it wasn’t grating or unpleasant. Some sort of strange accent as well. What Raym could see of the rest of her face under the dark hood was pallid with dark veins under the skin. It would unnerve him if many Sith at major ceremonies or shown on broadcasts did not look the same. Something about the cost of being immersed in the dark side. “I am Darth Amelis, and I’ve been looking forward to meeting you in person.”

“Me, my lord?” His mind started to race at what horrors might actually be awaiting him here if a Sith was this interested in him. He had originally planned to stand, but perhaps sitting would be better for the moment. “I’m not sure what would make me stand out from others.”

Although her mouth was covered, her yellow-orange eyes seemed to smile. “Don’t be so modest, Captain. You were the only one from your battle group that saw the true threat of _Nocturne_ and tried to do something about it.”

“Just doing my duty. I was disappointed when they escaped from us once again.”

“What if I gave you another chance?” Amelis pressed a button on her desk and a holoimage of the assault ship materialized, rotating slowly. “This task force was assembled solely to capture or destroy _Nocturne_ at all costs. To deprive the Republic of their prize and punish those calling themselves crew as an example to the rest of the Galaxy. No matter what, that ship cannot be left in enemy hands.”

Raym nodded. “I would be honored to serve, and look forward to finishing this mission. How will we find them though? Our last estimate showed the ship heading-”

Behind him, the door slid open again and one of the comm officer entered with a datapad. He had his eyes down while refreshing his memory on the bare facts that needed to be passed up the chain. “My Lord, I have the requested-”

Amelis raised her hand and the man’s voice cut off into a gurgle. Taking a glance back, Raym saw that the man hung a meter off the floor while clawing desperately at his throat. Throttled by an unseen hand.

“I’m sorry about that rude interruption. I believe you had a question. Please continue.”

Raym cleared his throat. “Reports deduced they headed toward Republic space. Do you think they’d risk more attacks?”

“I have no doubt that they’re securely back in the Republic licking their wounds. Their commander won’t risk the ship any more than she has to until she regroups.” Amelis released her grip, followed by the sound of a thud and gasping breaths. “Leave. I will call you when my meeting is over.”

Once he heard the door shut again, Raym’s brow furrowed. “You keep saying ‘she.’ How do you know the commander is a woman?”

“A Jedi Master, actually. Master Loke Sanna looks to be both the de facto commander of the vessel, as well as one of the pilots you likely faced during the battle.”

That explained how fluidly the colorful fighter moved. “Why would a Jedi be involved in Republic naval matters at all? As a diplomat or supporting a ground assault makes sense, but I thought they stayed separate from command positions.”

Amelis’s tone changed. “She’s no typical Jedi. I’ve spent quite some time studying her to understand our opponent. She’s one of their sentinels, working undercover and outside typical Jedi roles her whole career. Attacking our facilities, stealing intelligence, hunting down Sith relics to destroy - a painful thorn for Imperial command and the Dark Council.”

“After seeing her performance in combat firsthand, it’s clear her Force sensitivity makes her much more deadly. If we can kill her, I assume it’ll help morale across the Empire.”

“With your new XO more than anyone, I’d think.”

Raym raised an eyebrow. “Why would she know the Jedi?”

Laughter, hearty and metallic, filled the room. “She never told you! Brilliant. Lieutenant Dala was a Captain only a few months ago, leading your squadron with admirable discipline.” She motioned back to the hologram. “But Master Sanna attacked and overpowered her at her outpost on Mygeeto, stole her fighter, and used it to capture _Nocturne_. She’s lucky she wasn’t killed by either the Jedi or the military tribunal that came afterward. A word of warning: be careful with her.”

He set his jaw at this news, reexamining his earlier interaction with his subordinate. Her avoidance made much more sense in context. What officer would want to admit to such a shameful event? Raym would be careful, but not the same way the Sith likely expected. Her pride was wounded. If he showed he was supportive of her, he was sure she would work twice as hard as anyone else to prove she could get the mission done.

“What’s our next move? And how can Shyrack Squadron assist?”

“There’s nothing substantial your unit can do yet. Until we can locate and contain our target, prepare yourself and your squadron as much as possible. Get to know your pilots, constantly train them, and ensure you don’t underestimate our enemy.” She leaned back in her tall chair. “Sanna and her crew will be returning to the fight before long, more alert and firmly on the offensive.”

“I assume you have an idea of where she might strike?”

Amelis tapped the console and changed the image to a map of the Galaxy and the current lines of control. “Her pride is wounded more than anything, and she’ll skip these Outer Rim ambushes. No, with her ship’s appearance, she’ll choose somewhere deep in Imperial space to compensate. My goal is to help choose that target, and thus the battlefield to fight.” She shut off the holo. “I’ve also cleared _Nocturne_’s status as a threat in fleet registration systems.”

“If I may-”

“Calm yourself, Captain. It now registers as a silent hit, an audit code from the Ministry of Logistics. Not uncommon when command has concerns about a ship’s use of fuel and time. Most line officers will do their duty and report the ship's whereabouts in when they come in contact without questioning _Nocturne_ directly. It should allow us to track them silently, their crew will be ignorant, and there’s little risk of another Commander trying to hog the glory by destroying them. It will take patience and planning, but it will be well worth it.”

Raym had to recognize how clever the commander was, taking such a risk to lure the enemy deep into Imperial space before springing the trap. He stood and came to attention. “As you command, my Lord. Glory to the Empire.”

<< >>  


#### Command Deck

####  _Nocturne_

“Master Sanna. We meet at last. Might I remind you that calling our office so frequently will not speed up any supply requests.”

Loke crossed her arms. “Clearly my persistence paid off, Vice-Admiral Vacrine.”

“Clearly.” He sniffed.

_Of course the Republic would put a Muun in charge of logistics_, the Jedi silently noted. The species were well known for their natural ability with financial and mathematical data. It was what led many Muun to join their planet’s Banking Clan or work for major trading houses. As with every species though, a few like Wyte Vacrine felt drawn to the military and serving the Republic. She could respect their service while still taking issue with his attitude.

“Nocturne is running severely low on supplies and we’ve recently taken casualties among our troopers. If we don’t receive the supplies and armament we need soon, we’ll be completely combat ineffective. My command staff has put in numerous calls and requests that seemed to have gone ignored for weeks. When and where can we resupply?”

“Your ship is far from the only one fighting this war, Master. We’ve lost dozens of ships on the front lines, many that need overhauls, and the role of those under my command is ensuring that things are distributed where they’re most needed.”

“Currently our after-action reports place us as one of the deadliest attackers in the fleet, usually taking on Imperial forces without any support from other ships. And we run with a far smaller crew than most capital ships, requiring less provisions. Are my statistics wrong? Do we not rank as deserving of being at full readiness?”

“Things are far more complicated than kills and crew numbers.” Vacrine huffed, running his hands down his tan officer’s uniform. It was specially made to fit his lanky proportions. “After the recent fighting to stop the Empire on Ilum, and then to defend against Darth Malgus’s short lived ‘New Empire” took multiple fleets and incredible manpower to defeat. Offensives on key worlds like Leritor and Denova are far more taxing than you seem to understand. We have to make sure we have the resources on hand to flex and supply those with the most need.”

“We’re not on the front, Vice-Admiral, we’re all the way behind enemy lines many times. Our ship has shown itself to cause considerably more damage to the Empire’s war effort than a small fleet on its own. If you don’t want to help a Jedi and her misfit crew flying what was once an enemy ship, then don’t hide behind the numbers. These people are dedicated to the mission, and we’ll keep doing our duty, even if you won’t.”

The officer’s glare could have melted glaciers, and it was clear she’d struck a nerve. “I can see how you got such an infamous reputation around here. There won’t be any more delays. Report to Kuat Drive Yards for your repairs and resupply. Bay 75.”

“Thank you for your assistance, Vice-Admiral.”

He didn’t respond before abruptly ending the call.

<< >>  


#### Crew Quarters

####  _Nocturne_

Jorys was sitting on her bed and writing out notes on her datapad when Master Sanna appeared in her doorway, simultaneously lost in thought and determined.

“Grab your gear, Ensign. We’re going to have a little sparring class.”

She stared dumbfounded at the door for a second before reacting. “Oh! Of course. Just a minute, and I’ll meet you there.”

The Jedi was gone before she looked back, and Jorys quickly changed into her training gear while trying to toss her training blade and anything else she might need on the bed. This was an opportunity she had to take when it presented itself.

Stepping through the door into the training room, Jorys saw Master Sanna stretching out her arms and neck. The woman unconsciously spun the still deactivated training saber out of habit as she loosened up. Something was obviously bothering her, but this session seemed like she might prefer action therapy over a heart-to-heart.

Dropping her bag to one side, Jorys drew her own saber and activated the energy field. “I appreciate you making the time to teach me a few things.”

“We both could use the practice. Consider it a win-win.” Turning to face her, Loke took a defensive stance. Soft light rippled in undulating waves down the weapon’s shaft. “You ready?”

Jorys took a deep breath. _Am I ready for this? No time to question that. Focus on the here and now, and trust that the Force will guide you_. Taking her own spot on the padded floor, she raised the weapon so the tip pointed toward the ceiling in a ready position.

Although the Jedi's normal tactic would be to wait for her attacker to make the first move, Master Sanna moved across the distance with a low strike toward Jorys’s left side. Something to throw her off balance just a little when she expected a simple overhead swing. It wasn’t her finest block, but she deflected the blow all the same.

“Good!” Loke complimented her, taking two more strikes toward her shoulder and thigh. “Remember not to let emotion cloud your decisions, to focus on the moment in battle. It’s easy to let fear and doubt creep in when enemies are right in front of you.”

“I’ll try. That moment can be a bit distracting.” Jorys responded by pushing off and driving forward with a few of her own offensive moves. A smile started to form at the edge of her mouth to see the Jedi back off to block them.

“It’s important to work on doing quick damage. Get those strikes in early to avoid tiring yourself out. And be sure you’re constantly moving. A good planted stance is great for sparring, but movement will allow you to flank and dodge more easily.” She ducked Jorys’s slash like time slowed down, moving behind her with shocking speed. Jorys felt the hairs on her neck stand up as she heard the thrumming electromagnetic field next to her ear. The smell of the crackling warmth. “And most important of all? Survive however you can.”

Jorys jumped back on instinct, her saber up again. “How did- I’m sorry I didn’t anticipate.”

Loke shook her head. “Apologies aren’t necessary. It’s why we practice. And honestly? It isn’t a fair fight when I’ve been doing this my whole life.”

“Fair point.” Jorys felt herself relax a little. “Again?”

They crossed sabers and went to work, flashes lighting up with each clashing strike. Jorys was happy to get a few close calls on her teacher, switching up her style now and then to stay unpredictable. In the end, this was a completely different fight from any training dummy and her routine drills. If nothing else, this was only providing more incentive to work harder on improving her skills.

“Despite not having the same connection, you understand the power of the unseen Force, Ensign. That it can guide you and give you strength.” The Jedi smirked as they circled each other. “You and your commitment remind me a lot of my former Padawan.”

Jorys chuckled and stood a bit straighter. It was hard to tell the tone behind the words. “I hope that’s a good thing?”

The attack came swiftly, with a sting of pain and defeat as the training weapon grazed her arm. Jorys almost dropped her own blade as she mostly stopped the impact. 

Loke gave a nod of acknowledgement. “Always keep your guard up and strong, even when you feel hesitation. And yes, it was meant to be a compliment. Sera has always embodied the best of my Order’s ideals. Even when I faltered, she always stuck to her principles and was willing to confront me if she thought she needed.”

“In that case, thanks. That means a lot.”

“No problem.” Spinning her saber back, she glanced at the weapons rack. “Maybe next time we can try two sabers at once.”

“You know, I saw what success you had getting our mess droid to make good food. Any chance we could requisition a sparring droid at some point? Add a few good combat programs?”

Loke put her saber back on the rack and headed for the door. “Not while I’m still on this ship. I’d hate to lose my only sparring partner.” With a warm smile, she slipped out into the hallway.

Standing in the empty room, Jorys switched off the power to her weapon. She could totally understand some selfish motivations, especially after their short round of combat. There was a real sense of fulfillment taking on a sentient opponent, and she looked forward to doing it again as soon as possible.


	14. Why We Fight

### 14︱Why We Fight

####  _Nocturne_

After a couple days stuck in dock while the ship waited on crates of supplies and word about the wounded, they finally received word to depart again. Loke had said a quiet thank you to the Galaxy that there hadn’t been any pushback during docking or from the ground crew. A small part of her almost expected that the Vice-Admiral was going to pull something passive aggressive, so it was refreshing to avoid all that headache.

Now the hypnotic swirl of hyperspace rolled by outside one of the two open hangar panels. Typically she would keep them closed during their transit, but there was a method to her madness. It was also one of the most calming views until they made it to their destination. Spree had taken a little convincing to allow her to open it, but the fields were holding well enough that it wouldn’t be a problem.

Crouching down, she put herself eye-to-photoreceptor with T6-Q5. Perhaps it was a gesture that mattered more to organics than a droid, but she tried to treat him as much a part of the crew as anyone else. He was usually more excited than his coworkers on any given day too. His lights blinked softly as background processes whirred quietly away.

“Cuefive, can you put out requests to any available crew members to assemble down here? Flight crew, engineering, security, even the bridge. It won’t take long, but it’s important. Plus, unless we drop out of hyperspace into a battle, this is one time people don’t need to be at their stations.”

The droid whistled a low affirmative before rolling away toward the scomp link for the internal comms.

As she stood again, Loke spied Colonel Bostic heading her way. He was keeping up his habit of wearing full armor around the ship during shift, even if they didn’t have a mission. Perhaps overkill while traveling, but his vigilance would pay off if they ever got boarded and he needed to fight back immediately. At least he had skipped the helmet this time. Although she knew they were equipped with military-grade filters and temperature control, she assumed it would be claustrophobic to always be encased in metal.

“Commander Sanna.”

“Colonel,” she began, “I was hoping we’d get a chance to talk. I know we haven’t really spoken since the assault on the listening post…”

He nodded in measured reverence, unconsciously moving into a parade rest. “It was a tragedy for all of us on board, not just my team. That Imperial ship showed up at the worst possible time, too late to abort the assault, too soon for us to complete the mission. We were stuck between two very different but deadly enemies and we did what we had to do.”

“I know my call was giving you conflicting directions. I just hope I didn’t make things worse.”

“No, those were my soldiers.” Concern furrowed his bald brow. “It’s my responsibility to make calls for my team. We might be on your ship, but we’re designed to be semi-autonomous. It was your warning that saved my team from being trapped on board that station permanently.”

“Still, let me know if you or your team need anything to help with battle readiness or just for morale. I speak for many on this crew when I say thank you for always standing ready to protect us.”

“I appreciate that, Commander.”

A familiar yet still unsettling lurch rolled beneath her feet and the bright light faded on Bostic's face. That could only mean they'd made it to their destination. Right on time, by her current planning. She just hoped this little detour would make the impression she intended.

“I’m gathering everyone for a quick chat, if you’d like to stick around.”

He saluted. “I’ll go round up my troopers. They tend to find ways to make themselves especially scarce when there’s ceremonies or meetings.”

Loke smiled to herself as he walked off. 

While she waited for everyone to assemble, she stared down in contemplation at the great curve of the planet’s horizon. Glowing bands of ionized gases made for a disturbingly beautiful display as they shifted, further lit from below by oceans of liquid magma bubbling on the burnt and cratered surface. Most of it remained obscured through thick stormclouds filling the skies. Multi-colored lightning storms roiled and crackled in a lightshow of destructive proportions. If any ship could survive passing through the scorched atmosphere, she might be convinced there was a major battle being waged beneath them. It was sad to consider that this world might be one of the only ones that neither side was interested in trying to control anymore. Another casualty between the two factions.

Nocturne had settled far enough out to avoid any damage from either the remaining ion field or the misshapen chunks of the planet’s surface that now formed an asteroid belt. _If the crew doesn’t listen to the droid, the sight out the viewports will catch their attention_, she mused to herself.

Voices were beginning to mingle and blend as groups made their way in by section. Friends checking in on one another, questions on if maintenance work had been completed, a few low-toned bets as to what this meeting was all about. There was little chance any of them would guess correctly.

When she finally turned around, she saw the few dozen personnel that made up the majority of the crew. Inpost passed the group and moved to stand next to her. His expression read as confusion, but he didn’t say anything in front of the others. He had known her long enough to hold his questions in situations like this.

“Thank you all for coming on such short notice. Just wanted to gather you all for a few minutes to address a few things.”

One of the engineers, an Ishi Tib, sounded sheepish as he leaned forward from the rest of the group. An amphibious being with large eyes on stalks, his beak-like mouth made his speech sound exaggerated. "With all due respect, Master Jedi, where are we? This definitely doesn't look like our rendezvous."

Chief Engineer Kruk Robrios, a bearded human with graying hair and tattoos, took his arm and seemed to quietly encourage a bit more respect for their superior officer. His presence reminded her that a trip to visit the engine room was in order. She was neglecting the rear of the ship while spending all of her time with the flight crew and bridge.

Loke took a panning look across all the faces assembled. "An excellent question. Would anyone, besides Specialist Budrom, like to enlighten the rest of the crew?"

"Uphrades." A firmly professional voice came from the back of the crowd. Bostic had his typically military tone, but it was tinged with sadness.

She nodded affirmatively. "That's correct. Until a few years ago, the travel guides once called this place 'the breadbasket of the Republic.' I brought you all here after the last encounter, as I think we can all learn a few lessons from this world's tragedy. Anyone read the holos? Who can tell me what happened here?"

Ibri half-raised her hand to humor her wingman. "It was destroyed by some Sith Lord, right?"

Loke smirked, perhaps inappropriately, but this wouldn't be the last time. "That's half correct. It was in fact Darth Angral that attacked in his flagship, but it was equipped with stolen Republic superweapon technology." She pushed past the few shocked gasps she had and put up a hand to continue. "Which brings us to our first lesson. A reminder that the Empire is brutal and relentless. You each saw that first hand at Bingsing, but these people were a peaceful world. They will not stop until all of the Republic and everyone you love either submit to their rule or wind up like this." The Jedi cocked a thumb behind her. "As for the second lesson, remember that it was our technology that enabled this disaster. The Republic isn't inherently brave. Or noble. Or good."

"Great pep talk." Inpost muttered under his breath.

"You and your actions, the choices you make each and every day are what determines what the Republic truly is. It's up to you whether it's all the ideals they say, or if we become just like the enemies we fight. After Uphrades was attacked, a Jedi from my order led a strike team to defeat him. It was a long shot, unlikely to succeed, but they did it because it was the right thing to do. They did it to ensure justice for all those souls down there.” She selectively cast glances to different faces around the room. R’yr. Bostic. Jorys. Spree. “I can’t promise things will be easy or that we’ll always win the day. This war is brutal and unpredictable. But I can promise we’re going to do everything we can to protect the innocents of this Galaxy. I want to make sure you’ll do the same. Dismissed."

<< >>  


#### Ready Room

####  _Dawnfire_

“As a reminder, this will be a simple training exercise, so I expect a tight formation and no one going rogue to try and show off. We fight as one or you’ll need to find yourself a new squadron. I will not risk our pilots or the mission for one wayward space jockey. Report to your fighters, and I’ll see all of you at the starboard rendezvous. Dismissed.” Raym gave a final look around as the pilots slipped on their helmets and gathered their things before filing out on the path to the hangar bays.

Shyrack Squadron, or what its new incarnation was now, had not caused him any real issues so far. Their days had been just what Amelis had ordered – training, training, and more training. Simulators, cardio, drills, all to make sure that they would be ready when they eventually found Nocturne. The occasional under-the-breath grumble or derisive sigh had been quickly dealt with through non-judicial means. Time in the brig or corporal punishment would only take pilots off the flight line when they were needed most. Push-ups seemed the easiest and most effective way to remind them of their duty to the Empire.

Taking his own helmet from the edge of the podium, Raym headed out the door, pausing a moment to let it slide shut behind him. Not that pranks were common on a ship like this, but better to be safe. He had enough riding on the squadron between Dala’s failure at Mygeeto and his own actions at Bingsing. Better to ensure they were above reproach.

Coming down the corridor from the other direction were both of Amelis’s apprentices. A human and one of those four-armed creatures known as Besalisks. Why she’d chosen to divide her mentorship between two still eluded him. Perhaps it was to keep a competitive spirit and force them to try and out-do one another. In Raym’s experience, that either worked incredibly well or backfired horribly. Like a sudden duel to the death or one of them ‘accidentally’ walking out an airlock. There didn’t seem to be much middle ground. Regardless, they both seemed to hold some de facto position of power above the crew.

It was an odd reality of the Imperial military - that no matter how high one rose in rank, they were still below even most Sith Apprentices. And that was especially true when a Sith was the assigned commander of the ship. Regardless of the military’s views on aliens and their place in society, the hulking beast still looked down on the troops and crew members around him, both figuratively and literally. No one dared speak out, as the Sith could tear them in half even without the assistance of the Force. Even as Raym passed, the alien’s yellow-orange eyes glared at him over those scruffy whiskers and robust waddle.

“Whaddya lookin’ at, whelp?” One of his hands rested on the double-bladed saberstaff hilt he kept on his belt. The typically larger weapon looked small against his massive hands.

“Nothing, my lord.” Raym said, averting his gaze.

Amelis had been locked away since they last spoke, leaving many of the simpler errands and administrative tasks to her apprentices. Raym assumed she was just busy coordinating all the operational details of the Task Force. She didn’t strike him as the kind of person that would leave anything to chance if she could command it herself. The job required working with the senior officers on all four ships to ensure there wasn’t any confusion or hiccups in their plans. Raym has been in enough meetings with plenty of ambitious officers that had their own ideas on how to succeed that he silently wished her luck.

Or perhaps she was in some deep trance meditation all the time. Many of the Sith rituals were too foreign for him to consider with any seriousness. It was easier to imagine the commander taking charge instead of sitting alone in a room to concentrate on being angry.

Rather than worry about things anymore, he decided to follow his own orders and head to his fighter for launch.

Thirty minutes later, Raym hung motionless away from the rest of his squadron. Today’s focus was on dogfighting drills, finding the proper combination of speed, attack angle, and split second timing to score kills while avoiding enemy fire. He’d positioned himself with his cockpit viewport toward their arbitrary combat arena so he could observe everyone’s technique. He still had his systems on standby, however, in case things took a turn for the worse.

Split into two smaller flights, they had started with each group flying a predetermined flightpath programmed into their navigation systems. It forced them to stay together and fly as one far more deadly cluster than they would typically be alone. It was something Raym had been taught early on at the Imperial Academy - stick close and combine your fire, and it will easily overwhelm shielded Republic vessels. He had already seen a few of the younger pilots slip a bit too far out of formation on the turns, but that just meant they needed to run this again tomorrow.

Now Shyrack’s pilots were facing off against one another rather than standard issue training drones, as algorithms couldn’t compete with the creativity and sometimes desperation of a truly sentient enemy. To keep from actually killing or maiming one another, however, all the ships had switched to ion blasts. Their ability to temporarily knock out crucial systems was a close enough facsimile to the real thing.

Breathing in the stale, metallic air of his suit’s life support system, Raym watched them twirl and dive on one another. One of the hardest parts would be fighting a ship with the same abilities - speed, turning, and handling - as their own. A couple interceptors had already gone dark from being ‘killed’ while the rest fought on. There was still too much individualism in their attacks, no calls for wingmen to assist on either of the designated channels. Raym made a note to bring that fact up during the debrief.

As much as he hated to admit it, the aliens seemed to have real potential. They were both disciplined, followed orders without question, and had pushed hard to keep their skills sharp. Curil more than most, as he’d been outflying the others through this whole exercise. He was still too quiet, and Raym honestly wouldn’t trust him as a friend or anywhere near his financial info, but he would do his job when it came time.

Searching for their own target, Shayrack Three broke from their tight turn too early, which caught the attention of Shyrack Five. Raym had to commend the approach, cutting acceleration and taking precise motion to move into a blind spot. Unless Three caught him, it was going to be an easy kill. Just as the trailing fighter adjusted his aim and appeared ready to take out its prey, however, a burst of crackling blasts struck it dead center in the engines. With a sputter, the thrusters blinked out. Another fighter streaked by the disabled craft at a distance that was surely discomforting. 

“Keep your head on a swivel, Shyrack Five, or you’ll be floating out here indefinitely.” Dala’s voice was ice cold as she chastised the rookie. 

“Of course, sir. A foolish mistake.”

Dala had been nothing but professional since greeting him on the flight deck. She was constantly double-checking mission briefs, working on flight rosters, tracking any on supply shortages, and keeping the squadron a healthy amount of intimidated. Raym took it as a good sign. The woman had a storm swirling inside of her, driving her action. She was still angry and resentful for the Jedi and how she was humiliated, and Raym was happy enough to help her feed that anger. If properly focused, they could refine her energy into a deadly sharp weapon against the Republic.

When the time came, it would make bringing down _Nocturne_ that much easier. There was little info on the ship’s current location from the Watchers in Sith Intelligence, although rumors from a low-level source placed them at a Republic spacedock deep in the Inner Rim. Out of reach for now, unless the war shifted dramatically in the next few days. Licking their wounds and hiding from another defeat, most likely.

Part of Raym wanted Amelis to take bold action, to strike deep into Republic space like these Republic terrorists were doing to Imperial forces. But that was much too dangerous right now especially without their own Republic ship to use for the attacks. And if Amelis was right, _Nocturne_ would come to them sooner or later.

Right now he just needed to be patient and bide his time until that day arrived. Shifting his control yoke, he moved ahead of the still functional fighters to take up the lead position. “Shyrack Leader to Shyrack Squadron, that’s enough for today. Form up on me and return to _Dawnfire_. The rest of you stay put and wait for a ride back.”

As the remaining fighters headed back, a couple small tow craft headed their way. The blocky vehicles had a single pilot and multiple energy couplings for locking onto and dragging damaged or wrecked fighters back for salvage. Luckily this time its role was much more taxi than battlefield cleaner.

Raym knew he had his work cut out for him if he wanted to ensure they wouldn’t be cleaning him up one day as well.


	15. Stay On Target

### 15︱Stay On Target

#### Command Bridge

####  _Nocturne_

"What's our next target?" Loke asked the assembled group of officers "I assume most of you have been keeping up on the recent intelligence reports? I'm open to suggestions on where we could do the most good."

Chief Spree and Colonel Bostic had been summoned to the bridge to join in on the discussions alongside the usual bridge crew. Loke needed as many opinions in the room as possible if they hoped to make an informed decision. Knowing exactly what the ship’s limitations directly from the experts are would only lead to better preparations.

Before them was the strategic holotable, used for everything from mission briefs to general navigation. Currently it displayed a large map of the Galaxy, thousands of tiny dots scattered across the swirling arms depicting known systems and worlds. Along with being able to zoom in on each and every one in the database, they could add specific information layers - current position, hyperlanes, known faction territory shading - to filter their information needs. The hovering map cast the faint glow of blue light on each of their faces.

The Colonel stepped forward and pulled up a world of mostly circular green-brown continents with expansive blue oceans. “Our top choice and the most effective strike would be here - Nez Peron. The planet is run by a farming collective, and it’s a key agricultural supplier for the Empire. Tearing up their fields could force them to pull back and start rationing. Our fleet attempted to take the world quickly once war was declared, but it ended up being a complete rout. If we succeed, it’ll avenge those lost and ensure their efforts weren’t in vain.”

“We’re not attacking an agricultural world filled with non-combatants! That’s an Imperial tactic.” Loke was incredulous. “I just gave that big speech to the whole crew while literally standing in front of a charred planet that once looked just like Nez Peron. Did everyone already forget that?”

Inpost leaned in and highlighted one of the worlds of the former Tion Hegemony. “What about Deservo? Some major industrial centers, and Reaver Station is located in orbit. Word is that it’s a popular spot for their soldiers on leave. Damaging or crippling that station could do the same to their morale.” 

Loke looked around the table. “Farms, entertainment centers, is the next suggestion going to be attacking a medical frigate? We need a firmly and unmistakably military target. Something that will make a statement without killing a bunch of unarmed personnel while also striking a blow.” 

“Master Jedi,” Bostic considered her quietly, “it sounds like what you’re looking for is a shipyard, but we’re not equipped for that. My team definitely can’t take a target that large, and I’m sure the defenses would be far too great to breach for a ship of this size. We need a facility like an outpost or something a bit more remote, but I can’t think of anywhere that matches that description.”

"We have plenty of ordinance," Spree remarked, "but rearming and repairs will take time if you're planning anything including a bunch of runs on target. Even if we fully load out the shuttle, that's only three attack craft against whatever the Empire has prepped."

Inpost motioned at the miniature galaxy before them. “Well, one of these has to have somewhere we could hit. Is there a smaller shipyard away from Vaiken Spacedock or Dromund Kaas? 

Jorys had been mostly silent during the discussion, watching and absorbing over speaking up. Now though, she shifted back and forth, seemingly waiting for a break in conversation. After all the briefings they’d had around this table, Loke knew it was the Ensign’s way of being polite. It also kept her from being heard. 

"Ensign, you're awfully quiet. Something on your mind?"

"Oh, I-" Jorys started while trying to wave off the importance of what she needed to say, "I didn't want to interrupt. There were a few places I've been reading up on. Mostly low priority, but I think one of them might be what you're looking for." Stepping closer, she called up a planet closer to the edges of Imperial space. "This is Jabiim. Not a major center, but there's a key supply outpost on the surface. SIS assesses that it's one of the crucial bases for ships in the sector, but limited resources have left it relatively undefended. And much like Nez Peron, it's somewhere the Republic lost in the past."

"What do we know about the planet itself? Any local forces we could call upon?"

Tapping a few more keys, a glowing dot showed up on the darkened surface to denote the Imperial outpost. Alongside the intangible sphere appeared a box with the database entry containing everything the Republic knew about the sector, government, biomes, and major imports/exports. Jorys gave it a quick scan to double-check her own notes.

"According to the records, it’s forested with a lot of muddy plains and electrical storms. There's no real planetary government, and the few small settlements are mostly just hunters or farmers on the opposite side of the planet. No assistance, but also less chance of collateral damage."

"No orbital defense grid would allow us a clearer shot, provided we can break through their shields." R'yr noted as she leaned against the bulkhead.

Spree raised a finger to interject. “Electrical storms might be a problem. We’ll need to be careful with anything in atmosphere, as a lightning strike could knock out systems when you’re already getting shot at.”

“I’ll be careful not to scratch the paint.” Loke assured him.

Inpost nodded with renewed confidence. “Sounds like we have at least general agreement. Should I tell Budrom to lock it in?”

“Uh, sir?” Budrom called from three meters away. The helmsman was standing at his station awkwardly acting like he had been caught eavesdropping on the not-at-all quiet discussion. “I already plotted a course into the navicomputer to be proactive. Ready to go whenever you are. Just say the word.”

Inpost chuckled. “Permission granted, Budrom. Punch it.”

Loke turned to the rest of them. “If we make it to Jabiim, we need to be ready for a fight. I know it’s just an outpost, but I’d rather be over prepared and proven wrong than underprepared and get us all killed. Ibri and I will run a few formation plans. Spree, I need both our fighters fully armed for a strike.” She gave him a sharp look to preempt what she knew he’d say. “I know they’re scouts and not strike fighters, but do what you can. Colonel, make sure your team is kitted out and ready on standby as well. There shouldn’t be any reason we’ll need to land troops, but that might be the only way we get their shields down. Oh, and R’yr-”

“Make sure I’m ready to turn that mud into carbonized glass? I’ll take care of it.” She clicked her fangs together in impatience.

“I’ll make sure the bridge crew is ready.” Inpost hopped in. “Work with Sergeant R’yr and all that.”

Loke could understand his reticence to cede all authority of those he would be in charge of during the assault. Sometimes she forgot herself that she technically didn’t have any sort of military rank. Even as the de facto commander, she hadn’t served like many of those around her. It would be better to step back and let Inpost run things up here. Her XO knew strategy as well as anyone and it would leave her more time to focus on prepping the fighter for combat. Instead, she tried to wrap things up with a final warning.

“Remember, we may look like an Imperial ship, but we’re going deep into enemy territory on this one. Stay focused, give this crew your all, and that’s all I can ask. May the Force be with us.”

<< >>  


#### Crew Facilities

####  _Dawnfire_

Freshly showered, Raym pulled on his uniform pants and tossed the towel around his neck as he moved toward the sink. The clean smell of soaps filled the humid air along with a general steaminess from the hot water. Each cubicle was restricted to a rationed time limit, but it was the most refreshing part of his day. Perhaps it came from the general Imperial protocols on order and cleanliness everywhere else. Usually he saw it as the best place to be unplugged and alone with his thoughts. A place to unpack problems and find inspiration for solutions.

Standing in front of the polished metal panel that doubled as a mirror, the moisture glistened on his toned physique. Although he spent most of his time in the cockpit, it was only practical to train his more martial skills as well. Weight training, intense cardio, and practicing hand-to-hand combat. A standardized combatives program that borrowed moves from Echani, k’Jarti, and Teräs Käsi fighting styles. From what he saw in the hazy reflection before him, his hard work seemed to be paying off. And once _Nocturne_ was wiped from the Galaxy, it would only help his chances on the next shore leave.

Cold drinks in a relaxing bar wasn’t going to be anytime soon though. Raym’s schedule had shifted to training, eating, and sleeping with very little in between. There was still no real direction on exactly the environment or target, besides _Nocturne_ itself, so the squadron had been running through every maneuver in the book. Large target strikes, dogfights, single fighter combat, even space to ground operations. Raym wondered if he was spreading them too thin, ensuring general skill in too much without expertise.

Sudden bootfalls echoed in the room as a heavily armored trooper burst through the hatchway. An infantry soldier, based on the standard red coloring on the black armor. The Sith Empire’s cog-like emblem was emblazoned on both shoulders and the helmet’s forehead. There were enough of them patrolling the halls and protecting restricted areas around the ship. Although identifying the person inside was nearly impossible, the build had Raym assuming the person inside was male. His carbine was stowed on his back, attaching to one side of the gear pack for easy retrieval in case of attack.

The bell-shaped helmet bobbed slightly as the trooper snapped a salute. “Apologies, Captain. I wouldn’t bother you if it wasn’t urgent.”

Pulling the towel from around his neck, Raym folded it and set it on the edge of the sink. He hated being disturbed during his rare and fleeting personal time, especially when it was usually over trivial matters. “What is it, Sergeant?”

“Darth Amelis requested your presence in her office personally. When I checked your quarters and no one answered, I thought you might be here.”

That did change the calculus. Amelis was the one person he was happy was interrupting, especially after her recent silence. A chance to properly discuss the ongoing search and strategy was something he’d been looking forward to.

Raym nodded sharply. “Thank you, Sergeant. You did the right thing in searching for me. I’ll head there straightaway. Dismissed.”

“Yes sir.” Another sharp salute and the man was gone. 

Raym glanced up at himself in the mirror. _Well, it seems I should make sure my boots are polished_.

Striding quickly through the halls while also trying to appear calm was a balancing act. There was excitement and mystery in what the dark lord had waiting for him, but he also didn’t want to appear too rushed or desperate for attention. He hadn’t wasted a moment in dressing and heading her way, so it was unlikely she would fault him for a small delay. And pacing himself made time to think and craft responses to any questions she might have. The pilots had no major scandals or disciplinary infractions. Nothing to worry about unless another officer was plotting against him.

Reaching the vestibule outside Amelis's quarters, he paused for one final breath. He never got to take it though, as the doors immediately parted.

"Captain Raym. No need to wait outside." Seeing his barely concealed confusion, Amelis let out a mechanical chortle from behind the desk. "I could feel your presence all the way down the hall. Take a seat, as my time is limited."

Sliding into the seat, he kept his back straight and attentive to her whims. “How can Shyrack serve, my lord?”

“You’ll have plenty of opportunity to prove yourselves to me soon enough. It appears our plan is not only working as expected, but accelerating faster than we could have foreseen. I’ve ordered the _Dawnfire_ Task Force to redirect immediately.”

“Where are we headed, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Amelis smiled under her mask, lines forming around her corrupted eyes. “A small world called Jabiim in the Phellem Sector. The perfect target for a ship trying to masquerade as Imperial to attack. Far from our fleet bases, seemingly under defended, and a very, very long way from Republic reinforcements. Leaking that information to the Republic only made it seem more reliable.”

Raym found it hard not to smile himself. “Incredible news, my lord. Shyrack Squadron will be ready to do whatever is needed.”

“Be sure that they are.” She ordered, a hint of threat lurking behind her words. “I want everyone ready for combat the moment we drop out of hyperspace. Divide your squadron in half - they’ll be on rotating shifts for the next few days at least.”

Half strength would weaken the team dynamic he had worked so hard to build up, but Raym understood her reasoning. There was no telling when the enemy might show up, and better to have half of their fighters ready than scramble when it mattered. Once this Jedi and her crew landed squarely in the Task Force’s trap, there would be no escape. It was not perfect, but few things in combat ever were. “As you command. At last, we will finally end their threat to the Empire.”

“The end of _Nocturne_ is within our grasp.” Amelis confirmed with dark pleasure.

<< >>  


#### Command Bridge

####  _Nocturne___

_ __ _

Jorys took a break from skimming incoming reports from the holonet to look around at the rest of the crew. Budrom was at his station, more passenger than pilot as the swirling light of hyperspace enveloped them. He had turned to one of the side consoles and was fiddling with his sensors to make sure they were working properly. From their frequent downtime while waiting for a jump, Jorys noticed it was his go-to spot to kill time. And she could take comfort in the fact that they would always see a threat coming.

_ __ _

Over at the command table, Loke had been working around the clock to plan every detail she could. Hyperlanes, scans of the planet, any intelligence they had on the outpost, even similar layouts the Imperials used on other worlds to determine the best places to strike. Lieutenant Ibri was with her for most of these sessions, pointing and gesticulating with her own opinions. Jorys never heard much of it besides raised voices in excitement or frustration, but it looked like Loke appreciated having another pilot to bounce ideas off.

_ __ _

“One last time for the group, and then we’ll go prep our fighters for launch.” Loke turned to address the group. “When we arrive, there will only be a short window to close the distance and disable the shields. Based on similar Imperial outposts we have imaging on, the lower-grade generators will take a moment to power up. Ibri and I will take the shot as soon as we’re within range, and two damaged or destroyed pylons should render the system inoperable. The assault team will be on standby, but will launch only if we fail our objective.” Loke pointed over toward the weapons station. “As soon as they go down, we need to smash the main supply warehouse and any ammunition depots, then haul jets out of there. R’yr, we’ll need you to have the targeting solution ready to go the second the outpost is exposed. I want us long gone by the time any reinforcements show up.”

_ __ _

“I’m looking forward to it.” R’yr called back.

_ __ _

Commander Inpost and R’yr seemed to be discussing something over by the far bulkhead. From the original target selection conversation, Jorys assumed it had something to do with the turbolasers and missile batteries. Much like her communications array, she knew the weapons on this ship were much more complex than just point and shoot. Getting enough firepower past the shields and taking out the target quickly was a delicate and violent business, but R’yr seemed calm and collected about it all.

_ __ _

Jorys couldn’t shake the feeling that something was different about this mission though. The crew had headed into combat plenty of times, but this felt like rushing across a battlefield. It sounded crazy in her head, but she almost wanted to retrieve her vibrosword and wear it across her back while standing at her station. Have the weapon she was most comfortable with ready - like many officers did with their holstered sidearms.

_ __ _

“Coming out of hyperspace momentarily in the Anzat system.” Budrom announced. “You ready back there?”

_ __ _

“All set.” Jorys replied.

_ __ _

As space formed back around them, Nocturne found itself near a massive _Harrower-class_ dreadnought creating a checkpoint along the hyperlanes. It was the safest route along this section of space, and the one spot any passing ship would need to reappear before continuing on their next jump coordinates. For the unprepared, they could be quickly disabled or destroyed. Luckily, Jorys still had Imperial codes that hadn’t failed her yet.

_ __ _

Skipping the banter she used with previous targets, she figured a simple non-verbal code transmission was the safest option. Enough ships moved through here that it was common practice, and saved bored personnel from actually needing to speak or make small talk. Hitting the transmit button, she stood back and watched out the front viewports to see if the capital ship made any aggressive moves. Budrom, for his part, continued on with the sublight engines at a leisurely pace. For a ship on its standard patrol, there was no rush in getting to where they were headed especially quickly.

_ __ _

Behind the giant sentinel was the planet known as Anzat. Jorys knew little of the world, but it appeared to be mountainous with massive swaths of red forests spreading across its continents. Spires poked though cloud cover all over the place, more mist than what she was used to on Coruscant. A few small trading platforms floated in upper orbit, negating the need for spacers to even land on the surface.

_ __ _

“We need to be careful.” Inpost warned as he headed back to his command chair. “They’re taking longer than usual. At least it feels like it. Our codes have worked pretty well for us so far, but if the Empire’s security is anything like ours, they’ll change them up soon.”

_ __ _

“Hopefully not today, or I’m going to be really upset.” Loke moved up next to him to wait.

_ __ _

The whole bridge held their collective breaths after that comment, the seconds stretching as they moved gently through the firing line. After fifteen more agonizing seconds, a message flashed on the screen. A green acknowledgement to continue on.

_ __ _

“It says we’re clear to continue.” Jorys announced to a chorus of chuckles and anxious sighs. “Oh, and reminding us ‘Glory to the Empire.’”

_ __ _

Inpost gave her an approving nod as he turned back to the journey again. “Here we go then. Let’s go make some history on Jabiim.”

_ __ _

Clearing the far side of the checkpoint, Budrom adjusted their bow and checked the navicomputer one last time before pushing forward on the controls. Stars warped as they broke through back into hyperspace and the beautiful safety of that passageway between dimensions.

_ __ _

Still though, something felt off. An disconcerting anxiety simultaneously eating away at the both the pit of her stomach and back of her mind. A feeling like she forgot to pressurize an airlock properly. Nothing had changed on sensors, they made it through the checkpoint without issues, and no one could possibly follow them. _What is it then? Am I being overly sensitive? Am I just imagining Imperials hiding in the closets_?

_ __ _

Shaking her head to clear it away, she straightened up with military poise. _No, everything’s going to be fine. You’ll see_.

_ __ _


	16. Burn Out

### 16︱Burn Out

#### Starboard Hangar

####  _Nocturne_

It came as Loke sat back and did her typically monotonous pre-flight checks. A feeling, small and sharp, burned in the back of her mind. It left her with an uncomfortable sense of dread. Nothing seemed out of place with her gauges. _Gear? Got it. Power? All good. Life support systems? Nominal_. Her saber was safely tucked away in one of her suit’s cargo pouches. This was more than just forgetting something on the stove, it was the Force trying to warn her about real danger.

Reaching for the comm, she directed her call to the bridge. Better to be safe than sorry, and they should be used to it pre-mission at this point. “Hey, is everything okay on the scopes? Something seems off, and I wanted to check in.”

“Everything looks all good up here. We’re just waiting to start the attack.” Inpost had a habit where he tried to appease her need to make sure everything was in order. It drove her nuts when he did it, as he made no effort to hide his amusement, which felt a bit condescending sometimes.

Budrom sounded less sure, pausing as he checked his sensors. “Actually, Commander, I’m getting some strange readings from Jabiim. We’re too far out to confirm anything, but it looks like there might be other unidentified ships already in the system. We’ll know what’s on the other side in a couple minutes.”

“That doesn’t sound encouraging, Specialist. Is it the Empire?”

Loke set her jaw. “Trust me, it’s the Empire. I can already feel it. Pretty sure they’re waiting for us to show up, and they’re about to get their wish.”

Inpost responded with an escalating amount of concern. “Can we abort? Is there a way to shift our course to avoid the planet altogether?”

Budrom answered academically, likely already trying to find a workaround. “Negative, sir. If we drop out now, there’s no telling where we’ll end up. We’re meant to travel past whatever was in our path, and we could end up far from an inhabited system. As for redirecting, I’d have to plot and vet a whole new course in the navicomputer before we can jump again.”

“Do it then. If you can make progress before we come out of hyperspace, so much the better.” Inpost ordered. “In the meantime, I’ll have R’yr power up weapons so we’re ready to defend ourselves. What about you, Loke?”

“Sounds like I have two minutes. I’m going to improvise.” She responded tersely.

Killing the call, Loke pulled on her helmet and secured it with one hand while powering up her engines. Typically she would keep them on idle, but this situation meant she’d have to start from a sprint. Revving up the thrusters, she almost kept one hand on the throttle so she didn’t miss her mark. It also had the effect of causing Q5 and the rest of the crew behind her ship to scatter like they just saw a live grenade. 

Spree scrambled across to the launch station and grabbed the headset. Confusion was the overriding emotion in his voice. “Uh, a little preemptive on launch, don’t you think?”

Loke ran down her boards flipping switches and dropped the cockpit into place. “No offense, but shut up and get the hangar doors open. Any questions you have will be answered in a minute.” Switching to the direct line, she glanced over at Ibri’s fighter. Its engines had just kicked on in response to Loke’s actions.

“What’s going on?” Even without Force sensitivity, the woman had good intuition when things were headed sideways.

“Pretty sure we’re about to run headfirst into a trap. Make sure you’re ready for launch.”

The response was crisp. “Roger.”

Weapons were all registering as nominal and missiles were fully stocked. She was going to need them. “And do you remember the Jinkyn Maneuver from the academy?”

Ibri sounded like she choked on her own breath. “You can’t be serious.”

Loke bobbed her head in response, even though no one could see it. “Desperate times. Follow close and stay alert. We’ll only get a short window while they’re off-balance.”

“Right behind you, Warlock Leader.”

_That’s my girl_. What they were about to do was insane and would likely get some stern rebukes from any sensible Republic commander, but they weren’t in her cockpit right now. Watching the hangar door lock open, she kept a silent countdown in her head as her heart pounded in her chest.

There was barely half a breath of hesitation between lightspeed and when the stars suddenly became stationary again. Loke was pushed back into her seat as she opened the throttle, launching her out of the hangar and into open space. Free of the ship’s confines, she could divide the enemy’s attention and occupy them while Nocturne attacked. All of her power had been shifted to the forward deflectors and engines, and she silently prayed she wouldn’t need weapons immediately.

Blocking their path to the planet’s surface was a well-prepared Imperial fleet. Three heavily armed _Terminus-class_ frigates and a _Gage-class_ transport. More than they had faced in any of their previous missions. Loke felt an icy chill at the sight. She had faith in her crew, but they were incredibly outgunned. Unless the Republic had a fleet of their own on the way, there would only be one outcome. Aiming the nose of her fighter at the flagship, Loke tried to coax a bit more speed out of her thrusters.

_Here’s hoping Budrom works quick_.

Luckily the Imperials were positioned for a dramatic standoff. It meant their ships weren’t prepared for _Nocturne_ to come out of Hyperspace with guns blazing. R’yr’s first shot missed its intended target, one of the frigates, but carried past and struck the supply transport behind it. Utilizing the powerful ion blast over turbolasers was a gamble, but the pulse rippled across the ship.

There wasn’t a moment to celebrate though, as the space around Loke’s fighter turned into a firestorm. All three enemy warships counterattacked with turbolaser batteries, revealing just how many weapons were on each hull. Loke gave herself over the Force to dodge most of the deadly lines, but a glancing blow to her shield nearly blinded her.

She hadn’t looked back yet, but her thoughts wandered to worrying about _Nocturne_ and if they could evade such unrelenting fire. The ship’s shields may have been built to withstand punishment from ground cannons, but that didn’t mean it could last long by itself against three warships. Gritting her teeth, she pushed it from her mind. Jacen and the crew will do their jobs and fight hard, focus on doing yours.

Ibri was still alive and not far away, based on Loke’s senses. For now, at least. “Still with me, Warlock Two?”

“A little busy right now!” Ibri yelled back.

“Once we’re close, cut left and see if you can’t thin out those guns. Stick as close to the hull as you can - it makes it nearly impossible for them to get a good lock!”

No response came, but Loke assumed it was because the woman was too focused on staying alive. She could feel her own sweat gathering inside her flight suit from the adrenaline and work of keeping herself from getting hit. Shudders ran through the whole ship as she leaned into the acceleration, so close but somehow seeming like parsecs away. Those inside likely assumed she was heading for the superstructure, where the bridge and shield generators were located. They would be wrong.

Dropping low and rolling a bit more inward, Loke aimed for the port side hangar bay. Next to the opening was a rectangular power regulator, only vulnerable once she was inside the shields. Taking a deep breath, she held until it looked like she was about to slam into the side of the larger vessel. Kept herself on course even when Imperial fighters began launching to mount their own defense. Waiting for the precise moment, the fighter fired a bright burst that shattered the object in a shower of sparks.

Without the essential magnetic field keeping the balance, everything inside the hangar was exposed to the harsh space outside. Cables, weapon carts, and even mechanic personnel were sucked toward the unforgiving abyss. In response, a massive set of blast doors slammed towards one another to seal the wound. An especially unfortunate scenario for the latest fighter trying to escape, the durasteel jaws biting the Mk VI in half, ruined chunks pinwheeling away. 

Harness straps bit into Loke’s shoulders as she banked away hard and skimmed mere meters over the angry ship. It hadn’t been the most graceful plan, but it helped even the playing field a bit more. If the Imperials couldn’t launch fighters, there would be fewer weapons trained on them. Dodging around one weapons tower, Loke’s hands were tight around the stick as she tore apart another one. In the distance, she saw some cannon fire slam into another frigate’s shields. Nothing seemed to be penetrating, but it meant _Nocturne_ was still in the fight.

Searing explosions next to her fighter made Loke bang her head on the headrest hard enough to see stars. Pulling up and away, she spotted a few of the Mk VIs heading her way. Leading them across their own frigate, she noticed not all of them were willing to take the risk of following her closely. Shaking their formation apart a bit with her evasion, Loke angled for one of the pilots that strayed from the rest. Their attention seemed to be purely on speed, rather than searching for potential dangers. Jamming down the trigger, her bolts ripped into the Imperial’s wing and sheared it off. Spinning out of the control, a follow-up caused it to disappear in a flash of light.

“Warlock Leader to _Nocturne_. One of the hangars is permanently shut, and we’re working on thinning out the defenses.” Catching up with another Mk VI, she easily dispatched it. “How’s it going back there?”

“We just need a few more minutes.” Inpost responded, his voice tight. “Do what you can and get out of there, Warlock.”

“If you could hurry up, that would be great!” Ibri broke off from her own tight pattern as one of the Imperial fighters locked onto her tail. Back and forth, she dodged the incoming bolts while futilely trying to shake her pursuer. The only upside was that the ship gunners stopped firing in her direction for a moment. Loke kept throwing glances over, but was too far away to make any difference at this point. She felt her stomach hitch at the thought of losing her wingman.

Just as the fighter looked to have her dead-to-rights, Ibri cut power and threw on her reverse thrusters. The Imperial didn’t even have time to realize what was happening as the fighter blew past the nimble Republic pilot. As the hunter became the hunted, Ibri turned them to scrap.

Loke grinned at the impressive piloting. Maybe they had a chance after all.

<< >>  


#### Command Bridge

####  _Nocturne_

Meanwhile on the bridge, Jorys had her hands flying over scanners to keep them from having their communications jammed. It was unlikely with so many fighters buzzing around. Even the enemy needed proper coordination with their forces. Without a single target, Imperial attempts would leave both sides merely assuming what would happen next. It wasn’t like they could use hand signals.

Stealing a bit of control from another console, she had immediately shifted all shields to the starboard deflectors. It wouldn’t sap anything from Budrom or R’yr, but would hold the line for a little bit longer. None of the others would mind either. One less thing to worry about might actually let them focus. It was just in time as well, turbolaser fire slamming into the shield and rippling across the surface like waves on a pond.

There hadn’t been anything meaningful to do once Master Sanna’s original warning had come through. Warning the Republic was pointless, as they would never arrive in time. Jorys had no control over where they went or who they shot at like her crewmates. All she could do now was try and keep everyone informed until they could break off the battle.

From here, it looked like they had at least done some damage to the transport, if nothing else. It hung awkwardly off-kilter and hadn’t fired on them, which was a good sign. Once the strike on the hangar had cut off some of the reinforcements though, there was still a swarm of enemy fighters buzzing around outside.

“Status report!” Inpost called out.

“Shields are holding at sixty-three percent, but that won’t last long.” Jorys responded.

“Look on the bright side,” Budrom said playfully, “at least the outpost doesn’t have any ground-to-space weapons. That makes one less group shooting at us.”

Inpost spoke to everyone present as he watched the capital ships. “We can draw fire and absorb some of the damage to let our fighters create some chaos, but I want us to withdraw as soon as we’re able.”

Ibri and Master Sanna were still specks in the distance, taking on the whole Empire by themselves. Dancing around and between the much larger ships as they tried to outrun or outsmart hundreds of Imperials trying to blast them out of the sky. More often than not, the women actually flew just over or between the frigates. If the Imperial gunners tried to fire, they were far more likely to hit their allies than their target. And when they weren’t being fired upon, the pair had already crippled a few of each destroyer’s weapons. Jorys smirked, impressed with their cleverness - although it was the opposite of anything they taught back at the Academy.

Thuds shook the ship and caused one of the panels on the bridge to break loose in a shower of sparks. Seconds later, a pair of Mk VI fighters streaked past. They must have flanked around to hit them from another direction, and Jorys wondered what damage they’d already caused.

“We can’t keep risking hits from those fighters.” Inpost warned. “Shift shields back to the standard configuration. And tell those two to get back here so we don’t have to wait on them to leave.”

“Of course, Commander. Be advised, that will leave our starboard shields at eighteen percent.” Seeing only an affirmative nod, she keyed the comm station. “Warlock, this is _Nocturne_. Disengage immediately for withdrawal.”

A voice she knew too well at this point responded. “Yeah, yeah, _Nocturne_. Let me take this guy out, and we’ll get out of here.”

Just as Loke’s fighter dove on the Imperial for the kill, another fighter burst from the shadowed cover of the flagship. Spewing bolts raked the Jedi’s fighter, the shields overloading and blinking out before flames burst from the wing. Time moved in slow motion as her critically damaged ship tried to escape. Trying to bank away, the red and blue fighter lost control and flipped end-over-end toward Jabiim’s atmosphere. 

The line crackled and popped as Loke reported her status. “I’m hit! Unable to-...Crit-...-tem-”

Jorys leaned in. “Hang in there! We’ll come to get you!” Perhaps too presumptive and jumping the chain of command. It would be dangerous, but she was still in sight. If Master Sanna could regain some control, maybe they could tow her inside. All Jorys knew was the taste of bile in her mouth at only being able to watch helplessly.

“No… Run!” Loke’s final words were clear before the line cut out completely.

“Warlock Leader!” She yelled at the console. “Master Sanna! Come in!”

Inpost was quieter as his mixture of shock and sadness extinguished his resolve. “Budrom, do you have our escape vector?”

Budrom gave a small nod. “Yes, Commander. Ready to jump on your order.”

The Commander stared out at the battle for an interminable few seconds before he said anything. Jorys actually wondered if he was going to say anything at all, or even order them to make a run on the enemy fleet. Regardless of what had happened to Master Sanna, he was the one in charge. If this was going to be their last stand, it was in his hands.

When Inpost finally spoke, it was low and hollow. “Get us out of here.” 

<< >>  


#### Mk VI Interceptor

#### Designation: Shyrack Leader

Raym watched with the delight of a child as his Jedi nemesis fought for limited control of her ragged fighter. The small ship began to glow as it plunged through the atmosphere like a falling star. It would do nothing to bring back the dear friend he lost, but honored Bantol’s memory by avenging his death after all this time. Pulling a bit further from the battle than protocol dictated, he tried to keep the dying craft in sight through his limited cockpit sight for as long as possible before it disappeared into the clouds.

He would never confess to it if interrogated later, but Sergeant Zenole had been a necessary sacrifice. Shyrack had taken serious casualties, and the rookie was by far the weakest flyer left. Raym knew that he couldn’t let the chance to down Sanna go to waste, but that she wouldn’t walk into an ambush that wasn’t baited by an especially appealing prize. No one could argue with the outcome now.

“The Jedi has been eliminated, _Dawnfire_.” Raym reported in. “Heading in to finish off Nocturne now.”

Moments later, space stretched as their badly wounded prey disappeared into Hyperspace. Gone just before they could strike the killing blow. It made the pilot’s heart drop for a moment, but at least one of the main objectives was complete. Without their leader and damaged as they were, perhaps nature itself would take its course and tear them apart. Just in case though, he wanted to make sure he was there to see the bodies.

The Task Force channel was filled with both excitement and disappointment over taking losses and dealing real damage, only to have the enemy slip away. Most of the commanders sounded supremely confident, assured that their mission was about at an end. All they needed to do was pursue and finish off the survivors.

Raym sent orders to the remaining fighters in his squadron. “Shyrack, form up and return to the _Dawnfire_ for refit. We’ll be ready to launch as soon as we catch up with that ship.”

“Belay that order.” Darth Amelis was firm and decisive, appearing in miniature on every ship and fighter’s display. An uncommon occurrence, as a small hologram speaking to a pilot could distract from a focus on combat.

“What is your command, my lord?” This response came from Admiral Melda of the _Triumph_. It seemed best to step carefully, unsure of if her tone was anger or caution. Doubly so when his visage replaced the Sith lord for a moment.

“_Khar Shian_, _Triumph_, you are free to pursue _Nocturne_. Bring that ship back to me as a trophy, or prove to me that the Republic will never again use it against us. If you find prisoners, do what you will with them.” Only the synthesized breathing filled the line for a long moment. “My flagship will be staying put for the time being. And _Pulsar_ is out of commission. Shyrack, return to the remaining hangar for refit. Deck space will be tight, but we’ll make do. In the meantime, I will be taking a shuttle down to the surface to personally confirm the Jedi’s demise.”

“We’ll depart at once, my lord. Lieutenant, plot a course off of their last trajectory!” Melda disappeared before his subordinate responded.

Raym stared ahead out the viewport, unsure of what was happening. Wasn’t destroying _Nocturne_ the top priority? Why would they let that just slip away to go find some burnt corpse? Her body was never going anywhere ever again. One time he was glad his face was hidden behind the helmet. Questioning a Sith lord could be certain death, but his confusion had him feeling that she had lost the reason they all joined this task force. Shaking away the doubt, he took up the lead position again and guided his pilots back.


	17. Fallen Jedi

### 17︱Fallen Jedi

#### Hyber Canyon

#### Jabiim

When Loke first tried opening her eyes, she felt a surge of random pains from all over her body. A ringing tone echoed in her head and there was the rusty taste of blood in her mouth. Instead of forcing it, she shut her eyes again. She wasn’t sure what that meant. Definitely not one with the Force, but perhaps there were worse things than dying. Everything felt shifted around her, off its bearings. Opening her eyes again, she saw her shattered cockpit and a lot of splattered mud. Looking through the spider-webbed transparisteel, she realized she was upside-down.

_Well, that partially explains the feeling in my head_.

Before she crashed, the last thing she remembered was the plunge toward the landscape below. One wing blackened and shredded, alarms screaming at her, falling through the atmosphere as lightning crashed on all sides. Even wrenching the controls in an attempt to regain even a modicum of stability before she struck the surface. She had tried to get her sputtering repulsors to come back online. In the end, the g-forces must have overwhelmed her and caused her to black out.

And through either dumb luck or the will of the Force, she’d survived. Making a quick status check, it didn’t seem like anything was broken or too badly injured. There was a gash on her thigh that had torn through her flight suit. Touching her face came back with some ruby blood diluted in sweat. Superficial wounds from the cockpit shards. Taking a deep breath, Loke released her harness and fell into the mud below her.

Crawling through the widest opening, she dragged herself clear of the crashed fighter. Placing her back against the outer frame, she removed her helmet and dropped it in the mud. A couple small fires flickered around pools of combustible fluids that had leaked out, fighting for life against the drizzling rain pattering against the metal hull. Deep gouges were torn into the ground for at least a hundred meters, leaving shattered tree stumps and strewn chunks of rock in its wake.

Loke allowed herself a chuckle. _If you’re going to crash, why not make it inverted and at high speed_?

Exhaustion was starting to settle on her shoulders, but she fought the urge to just sit and rest. Even if the Imperials thought she was dead, they would likely send a squad to double-check. She needed to get as far away from the wreckage as she could. Focusing on the cold rain to wake her up, she used the side of her ship to pull herself to a standing position. There was only a moment of vertigo before she balanced out.

_I need gear first_. Behind the cockpit, she spied the square panel with rounded edges that she used as storage. Something had struck it during her landing and it looked like it had seen better days. Reaching out her hand for focus, Loke ripped the panel off its hinges and threw it aside. Grabbing the weighty bag inside, she slipped the straps over her shoulder and started towards the nearby woods.

After a few steps, however, Loke paused. There was one thing she could still do to buy herself a few minutes. Blindly reaching her hand into the bag, she searched around for a smooth metal ball. Heading back, she grabbed her helmet, activated the thermal detonator, and gently settled her flight helmet’s edge onto the pressure trigger. It might not end up working, and it might only take out one Imperial, but it would make them think twice about rushing after her.

Redirecting herself at the rockier terrain off to one side, she hoped that would make it harder for her to be tracked. If nothing else, there wouldn’t be as much boot-sucking mud. A glance at the skies showed only thick cloud cover. She had tried to warn _Nocturne_ before the comm system cut out, but there was no way of knowing if they’d taken her orders. _Either I’m the unlucky pilot that got left behind, or I’m the only surviving member of my crew_. Not the greatest spot to be in, no matter the truth.

She put it out of her mind for now. Dwelling on possibly losing everyone would only crush her spirits when she needed to keep herself alive. Then again, if there was no longer a chance of getting home, then she had no reason not to complete the mission. Find the outpost, torch it, and maybe steal a shuttle to get home.

Picking her way over the terrain near what looked to be a massive canyon area, she found a suitable spot to collect herself. An old tree had fallen on a couple large boulders, creating a natural shelter. It wasn’t much, but it would keep her out of the rain for a few minutes. Slipping the bag to the ground, she unfastened and began shimmying out of her flightsuit. Bright orange was a great color to have when waiting for rescue, but would get her killed on Jabiim. Caked with goopy mud and a few smears of blood might cover some of the radiance, but not enough to be effective.

While Loke was partially disrobed, she took the opportunity to fetch the medical kit and a torn scrap of mostly clean fabric from the inside of her suit. Wetting it with the rain, she tried to clean her wounds with the wet cloth. A simple step to prepare the area before she applied some kolto gel and covered them with bandages.

Slipping on a dark pair of military-style pants, a simple shirt, and a pocketed infantry vest, she was at least somewhat prepared to continue her journey. And to think that she’d almost skipped adding a backup set of clothing to her emergency bag. _When will I ever need that? It’s not like I’ll get shot down somewhere hostile_. It was good to be wrong. A small victory she could congratulate herself for once she was off this planet.

Attaching her saber hilts to her belt, Loke dumped anything she didn’t need on the ground. Slipping the much lighter pack back on, she clipped the buckle in place and tried to divine the most likely direction the outpost might be in. Based on the last trajectory she remembered during the crash, it looked like their target would have been northeast, but she’d also been spinning out of control at the time.

Placing a stimpill on her tongue to keep her alert, Loke picked the direction that looked to lead towards higher ground. Even if she didn’t know where she was going, a good spot for reconnaissance and a pair of macrobionoculars would confirm her theory.

<< >>  


#### Command Bridge

####  _Nocturne_

“What the hell just happened?” R’yr rhetorically asked the room.

Hyperspace swirled outside in its familiar pattern, but everything had changed in the span of a few minutes. Even if the weapons officer had been looking for an answer, Jorys didn’t really have a good response for her.

“They were waiting for us.” Inpost threw his hands up, finally getting a moment to process. “But that’s impossible. No one should have known we were coming!”

Silence returned as the Commander moved to lean against the holotable, looking for answers in its glowing surface. He was right, there shouldn’t have been a fleet waiting above the planet. There shouldn’t have been anyone at all. The greatest threat should have been the outpost itself or an especially lucky armed shuttle. Overwhelming threat of force to encourage the Imperial base’s surrender.

No, they had been deceived. There was no other explanation. Convinced to walk into a trap meant solely for their ship. Jorys felt sick at the prospect. Ingesting and passing on that intelligence was her job. She had suggested they go to Jabiim in the first place. _Is this all my fault? Did I possibly get Master Sanna killed_? An even darker thought crossed her mind. _Did I get us all killed_?

Chief Spree’s sudden arrival snapped her out of the introspection. “You left her! Everything she’s done for this crew, the leadership she’s shown, and you abandoned her to run away!”

Inpost slammed a fist down on the table and looked up at him. “I’m in command of this ship. Watch your tone when you speak to me.”

“My tone? I don’t-”

“She told us to jump away. To run, because our survival meant more to her than her own. And I agreed with her that we needed to protect the crew.” Inpost approached the Crew Chief. “Did Lieutenant Ibri make it back safe? She’s uninjured?”

Spree seemed to lose some of his momentum. “Yeah, Ibri landed just before we jumped. She needs some maintenance, but she’ll be ready.”

“Good.” Inpost nodded. “We need to get a full accounting of our supplies and current losses. It might be the only way we can turn this around.”

Spree backed off a bit, his eyes still burning with anger as he spun and stomped back to the hangar. “Aye, aye, Commander.”

Jorys breathed a sigh of relief at her station. The last thing this ship needed right now was for people to turn on one another. She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath as she watched the two men face off. Part of her was glad she’d stayed silent and let them blow off that anger, as it seemed to be dissipating on its own. Still, they couldn’t have this happen again. Court martial be damned, it would be better to get in trouble if it meant getting the ship back safely.

Safe was a relative term at this point. _Nocturne_ was so far behind enemy lines that getting home would be tricky, the Imperial frigates were likely not far behind them, and there was still no indication of how much damage was unaddressed from the battle. _Keep focused on one problem at a time. Just work on making sure the ship is holding together for now_.

And Master Sanna? Jorys knew she couldn’t prove anything, but somehow she just felt that the Jedi was still alive. The chances were slim, but perhaps it was the Force reassuring her in some way. Trusting in the Force wasn’t about to give her abilities that could turn this situation around, but it had also never steered her wrong. If it felt that Master Sanna was still alive, Jorys was going to do everything in her power to get her back.

Even if it meant going down to that Imperial world herself.

After only a few minutes the stars outside re-formed into an inky view in all directions. No stars, no planets, not even the shattered asteroid-like remains of something that once existed here. It was an eerily dead space.

"Where are we, Budrom?" Inpost demanded firmly. "There's nothing here."

"If all the calculations I made are correct, there shouldn't be. We're nowhere near any civilized or habitable worlds or major stars." Finishing his check of the navicomputer, he turned to face his commander. Jorys hadn’t even noticed he’d been silent this whole time. "It's a tactic I adapted from Balmorra. The local resistance was heavily outgunned and spent just as much time running as planning or fighting. When the Empire gave chase, it was best to pick the obvious escape route - but then immediately hide amongst the rocks and vegetation. Risky, but it reduced the chance of exhaustion and left the Imperials wasting time searching."

"In Basic, if you don't mind."

He gave a nod of understanding. "We've only jumped about fifteen parsecs before stopping between marked waypoints. Without a proper damage report, it wasn't wise to risk a long distance trip. And stopping here will keep us out of the Empire's view for long enough to regroup. Personally though, I wasn't sure if we might be making a return trip to rescue Master Sanna."

R'yr swept her hand in a chopping motion to signal disapproval. "Are you serious? She's dead, Budrom. We all saw her go down, and no one could have survived that crash."

"We don't know she's dead." Inpost countered. "She's survived some pretty major scrapes."

"With all due respect, sir, I'm shocked you're on board with this. We should head for the nearest Fleet rendezvous and report what's happened."

“And I’m surprised you’re not the one arguing to stay. You know, Sergeant, it’s why Loke brought you on board. She read the files. She knew what the Empire did to your crew on the _Redeemer_. You were pretty much the only reason anyone survived, and she wanted someone who had that spirit. Someone that wasn’t going to quit, no matter the odds.” Inpost stood silently, gripping the edges of his console and leaving his knuckles pale. Finally he let out a long sigh. "It doesn't matter what we decide to do if this ship can't get us there. Zak, check in with Chief Spree and engineering to get a full damage report. Once we know what this ship can still do, I'll make the call."

<< >>  


#### Starboard Hangar

####  _Dawnfire_

Ships seemed almost piled on top of one another to try and poorly compensate for the single hangar. Fighters, shuttles, a couple bombers, compounded by all their needed supplies. Missile racks, gear-laden repulsorcarts, and proton torpedoes on munition gurneys were maneuvered through the makeshift halls made between ship wings. Fuel hoses snaked between mechanics trying to make repairs and prepare spare ships for actual use. The crew was making a valiant effort, but it wouldn't change their glaring handicap.

Perched on top of one of the black and silver plasteel crates, Raym still wore his pilot uniform. The Mk VIs engines hadn’t even had a chance to fully cool down. Despite the fact that the battle was technically over, he felt like his priority should be recording all of his impressions before he lost them to the flurry of activity all around. His helmet sat on another crate nearby, staring at him while he worked. Audience or not, he needed to get back to preparing for whatever came next.

Glancing up, Raym spotted Dala standing off to one side and waiting patiently for his attention. She was clearly troubled and looked like the fight had exhausted her. No, that wasn’t it. The look was something else, almost haunted. But they’d succeeded in driving off the enemy, sacrifices or not.

“Yes, Lieutenant?”

“I assumed you might want input on the after-action report. Things were quite chaotic out there. As your XO, I-” 

Raym regarded her quietly. “Answer something for me. Are you angry that you weren’t able to kill that Jedi yourself? I know you two have a less than pleasant history.” 

Dala moved to a parade rest stance. “No, sir. I have no resentment against you. Disappointed, perhaps. I’ve thought about this moment every day since Mygeeto, wondering if I’d ever cross paths with her again. Ending her life must have been satisfying, but as long as she’s gone for good, I’ll sleep better at night.”

“Let’s hear it. How many casualties did we take?” Raym set aside the datapad and focused on her. 

Dala sat up straighter and took a moment to compose herself before delivering the news. “Currently, the squadron is at half strength. Myself, Corporal Curil, Sergeant Aston, and yourself. Everyone else is listed as killed in action, either from enemy fire or pilot error during maneuvers so close to the frigates. And Aston never even made it off the ship, but we’ll need to find him a spare fighter with the port hangar out of commission.” 

“What about that Nikto?”

She shook her head sadly. “Specialist Guurot was crushed by the hangar doors when they slammed shut. Probably didn't even see it coming.”

“Dammit.” Raym said under his breath. Half his pilots gone in the span of a single battle. One that it seemed they’d decisively won. Completely unacceptable losses for any commander, but more so against an outnumbered enemy. At least the Jedi was dead, as she was definitively the most deadly adversary out there. And Darth Amelis seemed pleased enough at their success. At least he assumed so, as she had left _Dawnfire_ with her apprentices not long after he landed. Any other Imperial commander would be giving him a serious dressing down right now.

“What are your orders, Captain?” Dala asked, her tone cold but professional. “Overall, we’re far less than the recommended standards for combat readiness. Although being left behind while the others pursued _Nocturne_, my assessment is that we aren’t prepared for another engagement until we can regroup.”

“In that case, I want us ready for battle again as soon as possible. Full repairs and rearming for all of our ships, and if the hangar crew pushes back, use Darth Amelis’s name. She's made it clear that Shyrack is the primary squadron in any defense against the Republic. Ensure we have a fighter prepared for Aston as well. I don’t care if we take it from another squadron or have the repair teams cut one out of the other hangar. This is only a setback that we need to overcome.”

“Expecting more trouble, sir?”

Raym nodded outside the hangar energy field at _Pulsar_. The transport ship was listing at an unnatural angle above the planet’s atmosphere. It still hadn’t recovered the primary power systems, and teetered near Jabiim’s gravity well. It was fortunate that the task force wouldn’t need to travel too much further to complete their mission, as the supplies on board kept their range tethered to a now stationary ship. No word had come through yet whether the crew were planning to abandon the vessel or use _Dawnfire_’s tractor beams to tow it away.

“You and I have dealt with Nocturne enough to always be prepared, Lieutenant. If they're obliterated by the others, so be it, but I don't want to get caught unaware."

And somehow, deep in his mind, Raym began to worry that this fight might not be completely over.

**Author's Note:**

> If you've made it all the way to the end of this and thought it was half decent, please let me know with a kudo or a comment! The interlude for Volume II **SWTOR: Tales From Tuuro** is already completely posted! And stay tuned for the next book, **SWTOR: Death Mark**! Thank you and MTFBWY!


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